helvetica and her vinyl boots

I just knew that Aimee Bender had it in her; it was abundantly clear to me that she was one of those non-typographers with typographic sensibilities. (What should we call such people, anyway?)

In her first, remarkable novel, An Invisible Sign of My Own, painstakingly hand-crafted numerals play a prominent role, as do perfect circles; and in a world where font dominates the common parlance, Aimee actually throws in typeface. There was no denying the evidence, then; all I lacked was the proverbial smoking gun. And then one Sunday morning this past summer, it literally landed on my doorstep.

The New York Times Magazine, June 22, pp 17–18. There is Aimee, leaning against her kitchen sink; snapshots of her night table, refrigerator door, Freud doll, and closet cum office complete the photographic pastiche. The interview questions comprise the peculiar and the prosaic; the interest lies wholly in Aimee’s answers. For me, the high point occurs just past the halfway mark, in response to what she does between writing projects:

...I have a file called “Fonts,” where I make up different stories about fonts in the different fonts. They’re like Helvetica, who is this fully realized person in my mind. Helvetica and her vinyl boots.

Being who I am, this got my blood pumping hard. I was curious, and so I emailed; and within days, Aimee wrote back. In addition to being one hell of a talented writer, she is kind, unassuming, and generous; after all, she sent the font stories, replete with a plea for editorial assistance. I happened to like them just the way they were, and so I left them alone. Here are five.

06-October 2003