The Art of the Book is a gorgeous celebration of Thames & Hudson, from the start, with all the milestones along the way. When we started the project, we had the vision and we had the team, but we also had one big challenge to overcome: where on earth do you start? How do you turn 75 years and tens of thousands of books into one book, one story to tell thousands?
We spoke to creative director Tristan de Lancey and senior development editor Elain McAlpine to discover what it took to get the project off the ground and across the finish line.
Getting Started
Tristan de Lancey (TdeL): The idea of the book first came about when a group of us were brainstorming ideas for the 75th anniversary. All these ideas were subject to approval by the Neurath family, owners of the company. If we did a book, we wanted to do something that had never been done before, which would be extensively illustrated. We looked at other books on publishers, by publishers, and decided that while there were interesting elements, ours would be more ambitious. In the end, it was not just approved by the family, but our former chairman Thomas Neurath’s interest was also immediately piqued: he wanted to be completely stitched into the project – from title page to miscellany, paper stock to choice of printer.
If we did a book, we wanted to do something that had never been done before – Tristan de Lancey
The large format was fairly easily settled upon; the extent wasn’t (448 pages was mooted, causing great consternation round the house; in the end, it was even more). There would be three parts – neatly covering the Walter era, the Thomas era and beyond – with an introduction and lots of books, all of which had to be photographed. Renders wouldn’t cut it. First problem: we were due to move offices, and the in-house libraries and archive had been packed away. This led us first to Thomas’s own extensive collection, and when he didn’t have what we needed, to the offsite archive of tin boxes.
Elain McAlpine: A word about the tin boxes: the idea was that a) they were tin, and b) contained one copy of every book Thames & Hudson ever published. This turned out not to be true on both counts. Unpacking the boxes had the feel of unwrapping your Christmas presents: they might or might not contain what you expected, and there was always the thrill of discovery. One memorable box contained fiction. Fiction! Who knew? Despite the moments of elation, there were times when you opened up a box to discover the dust jacket was missing, or a later edition had been substituted, and realized you needed a Plan B.
Unpacking the boxes had the feel of unwrapping your Christmas presents: they might or might not contain what you expected, and there was always the thrill of discovery’ – Elain McAlpine
Original tin boxes containing T&H books from our archive
Photography
TdeL: Not quite realizing how much there was to do – but aware that there would not be enough time to do it all – we had to get going on the photography. As luck would have it, a trusted photographer contact had a studio conveniently located to Thomas (though not necessarily to the office). Hanna – Johanna Neurath, Thomas’s daughter, former Head of Design and now Chair of Thames & Hudson Publishing – and I had agreed that we would create tabletop shoots, but I wanted to go further and bought some floating shelves to vary the way the books would be displayed on the page. It was the most comprehensive briefing document I think I’ve ever prepared. We set aside one day a week for this – which quickly became two – to keep pace with demand and the speed of delivery that was being organized backstage. After all, beyond the covers we also had to find interesting insides, selecting spreads at speed, and record interested conceits as they popped up: change in logos, cloth colours, slipcases, old catalogues and ephemera, and so on.
Finding a Structure
EMcA: With the photography underway, we turned our attention to the content. At the beginning, it was just us round a table, some pen and paper and a lot of head-scratching. But soon themes began to emerge: the importance of those early partnerships with co-publishers, relationships with authors that carried on to succeeding generations, and close collaborations with artists who became – to use a Thomas phrase – ‘friends of the house’ for decades.One day, magically, they began to coalesce into one beautiful spread after another, and we realized we had a book on our hands – Elain McAlpine
Commissioning editors past and present were canvassed for their key titles, and the next months were taken up with lists. Lists and lists of books, thousands of them, became battlegrounds for discussion, argued over, crossed out, added to, scrunched up and chucked out, retrieved from the bin, shuffled around, designed and redesigned – until one day, magically, they began to coalesce into one beautiful spread after another, and we realized we had a book on our hands.
Design
TdeL: By now Nick Jakins was on board to design the book, and an approach had been agreed. We would switch paper stocks between the essays and the thematic book spreads. Fonts were chosen that chimed with the old books (Poliphilus and Blado were must-haves). The title page would immediately set the tone of a book that referred to the past but sat squarely in the present. We were also lucky to have production manager, Ginny Liggitt, and her production savvy on the team. She convinced Thomas that Magno Matt was the best paper for the main entries because of its tone and tactility, reliability on press and ability to hold wonderfully rich blacks, and uncoated Munken Print White for the introduction, essays and miscellany to provide contrasting tone and texture, and a subtle nod to the paper colour in many of the featured books.The title page would immediately set the tone of a book that referred to the past but sat squarely in the present – Tristan de Lancey
EMcA: Even all those books photographed in the early days weren’t enough: we needed more, and then still more. New books were identified as essential must-haves on a daily basis, and that meant they had to be borrowed, bought or otherwise sourced and logged onto a spreadsheet, before spreads were chosen and photographed, the books returned to the office, checked against the spreadsheet and returned from whence they came – before deciding that we didn’t want them after all and the whole process would start again.
The Stories
EMcA: Thomas had brought in Anna Nyburg to write the introduction and chapter essays; my job was to write the book spreads, which at the beginning were little more than extended captions. As the design evolved, however, the captions grew to become blocks of text of several hundred words each. We needed stories – fast – and to get them, I had to work with Thomas. We spent a lot of time together. I would go to his groovy pied à terre in Ladbroke Grove, where we would thrash out the content. He was indiscreet and very funny, and made me laugh at how passionate he was about the things that caught his interest and totally dismissive about the rest. We talked a lot about Walter, his father and founder of Thames & Hudson, whose place in the history of both the company and illustrated publishing he wanted to celebrate.We knew the books couldn’t just be literal pairings on the spreads. We had to consider what fit with what thematically, to tell a story that both connected the books on the page and stitched them into the larger company fabric in a way that was interesting and amusing. We also had to keep in mind what this would look like spread by spread, and this was where Thomas and I had most of our tussles. This was as nothing, however, to navigating the internal politics. 472 pages is a lot of real estate, but even that wasn’t enough to include everything on everyone’s wish list. More than one essential title ended up on the cutting-room floor.
We talked a lot about Walter, his father and founder of Thames & Hudson, whose story in the history of both the company and illustrated publishing he wanted to celebrate – Elain McAlpine
The Cover
TdeL: Early on in the project I had trialled wrapping a photograph of the tiles from the porch steps of the old Bloomsbury Street offices (we had moved out of them back in 2000), which had spent the last twenty-five years situated – rather inconveniently from a photographic point of view – in a dimly lit stairwell. An early design was shown to Thomas, which included both the tiles and photographs of the tin boxes as chapter openers, and both concepts became set in stone – or grouted in, at least! The real problem with the cover was the clutter: getting type to read against such a decorative background. It took quite a while to arrive at the solution: a half-jacket with a simulated bellyband to allow for a full reveal. The pop colour, designed to appeal to a lifestyle market, was squarely based on Fortnum & Mason blue with matt-gold foil. Ginny was a stickler on the reproduction of the 1950s colourways of the fired tiles: by now, they were beautifully displayed in our new home in Britannia Street, making it much easier to match colours. She also gave great guidance to find finishing materials to ensure the book would be hardwearing for longevity on the bookshelf.
The Finish
EMcA: In June 2025 we were still deep in the trenches, but the smoke was clearing and the finishing line was in sight. And then Thomas died. What had started as a tribute to Walter turned into a tribute to his son. But all key decisions had been made by then, and we knew we could fulfil Thomas’s vision. Nick and I hunkered down and spent the next few months wrestling the book through the final stages, and in September, we sent it to press. What a team! We had a group hug and resolved not to speak to each other again for the next six months.Thomas’s death meant the next generation – Hanna and Susanna – wrote a lovely preface. He would have been proud; the baton was handed over – Tristan de Lancey
TdeL: Do you know what was great? Seeing the reaction within the company when the earlies arrived – that, and the fact that Hanna and I became really good friends. We all made a great team. The whole process felt sometimes as if we were trapped alone on an island, yet we were resolute that we would fare better than the boys in Lord of the Flies. Thomas’s death meant the next generation – Hanna and Susanna – wrote a lovely preface. He would have been proud; the baton was handed over.
