The Vance Integral Edition: What Is It?
Some time ago, I, Pulsifer, ran into an old acquaintance from the days before I was forcibly thrown out of SF fandom. We found that neither one of us had any connection with that business anymore.
But I admitted to having kept an eye on the recently emerged international Vance network, arguably the culmination of military experiments with hooking up computers starting in the 1960s. Did my friend know that a rather large group of Vance fans world-wide had cooperated on producing a standard edition of the author’s work, in 44 volumes? No, he did not, but he thought it sounded like a splendid initiative. Did he know that although the original intention had been to create an affordable set of books, it had eventually been decided to utilize costly, luxurious materials that put the price of the work beyond what most of the original volunteers in the project could afford? No, he was unaware of this. Did he know that it was at some point concluded that no existing typeface was suitable for conveying Vance’s prose, and that hence a new one had to be designed, by people who had no training in typography? No, this was not known to him, and furthermore he did not particularly want to hear any more about it. “But the illustrations! You must let me tell you about the illustrations!” I shouted at his retreating back.
I think that, like my long-lost friend, we can all agree that the original Vance Integral Edition (henceforth, VIE) concept was a glorious one. And imagine the delight Vance himself must have felt on learning of these plans! Although in his infrequent interviews he always likes to suggest that he is indifferent to the world and its opinion of him, it is equally clear, if you can read between the lines, that he feels he has been somewhat underappreciated. What a welcome vindication, in his old age, to get to see a handsome, complete edition of his works, produced by his many admirers!
Well, not literally see, of course. For Jack Vance is blind since many years. And herein, I think, lies one key to what eventually transpired. Feast your eyes on the finished product:
No group of twelve-year-olds attempting to implement their idea of what books looked like in the 19th century could have done a better design job. In this form, the “Reader’s Edition,” it cost a paltry $1,500 or so. The subscriptions had been paid for, naturally, long before the design decisions were made and publicized. Disappointed customers who finally studied the details of the agreement they had signed with the VIE organization found that, technically, they had not actually bought a set of books that could be returned for a refund---they had instead made donations to a non-profit corporation.
Watch for our upcoming, more comprehensive, history of the VIE, which will differ markedly, at least in its focus, from, e.g., the one found here.
But I admitted to having kept an eye on the recently emerged international Vance network, arguably the culmination of military experiments with hooking up computers starting in the 1960s. Did my friend know that a rather large group of Vance fans world-wide had cooperated on producing a standard edition of the author’s work, in 44 volumes? No, he did not, but he thought it sounded like a splendid initiative. Did he know that although the original intention had been to create an affordable set of books, it had eventually been decided to utilize costly, luxurious materials that put the price of the work beyond what most of the original volunteers in the project could afford? No, he was unaware of this. Did he know that it was at some point concluded that no existing typeface was suitable for conveying Vance’s prose, and that hence a new one had to be designed, by people who had no training in typography? No, this was not known to him, and furthermore he did not particularly want to hear any more about it. “But the illustrations! You must let me tell you about the illustrations!” I shouted at his retreating back.
I think that, like my long-lost friend, we can all agree that the original Vance Integral Edition (henceforth, VIE) concept was a glorious one. And imagine the delight Vance himself must have felt on learning of these plans! Although in his infrequent interviews he always likes to suggest that he is indifferent to the world and its opinion of him, it is equally clear, if you can read between the lines, that he feels he has been somewhat underappreciated. What a welcome vindication, in his old age, to get to see a handsome, complete edition of his works, produced by his many admirers!
Well, not literally see, of course. For Jack Vance is blind since many years. And herein, I think, lies one key to what eventually transpired. Feast your eyes on the finished product:
No group of twelve-year-olds attempting to implement their idea of what books looked like in the 19th century could have done a better design job. In this form, the “Reader’s Edition,” it cost a paltry $1,500 or so. The subscriptions had been paid for, naturally, long before the design decisions were made and publicized. Disappointed customers who finally studied the details of the agreement they had signed with the VIE organization found that, technically, they had not actually bought a set of books that could be returned for a refund---they had instead made donations to a non-profit corporation.
Watch for our upcoming, more comprehensive, history of the VIE, which will differ markedly, at least in its focus, from, e.g., the one found here.
posted by Pulsifer | 6:50 AM
<< Home