Of the Decorative Illustration of Books Old and New 3rd ed. — Story, Setting & Ideas

The Page as a Designed Whole

Crane’s core argument is that book illustration must be conceived as part of a unified page, not as an independent picture inserted into a text block. He draws a firm line between “the art of pictorial statement” and “the art of decorative treatment,” insisting that the most complete book-pictures combine both. This is not an abstract ideal; Crane demonstrates it by pointing to specific examples where designers respected the “conditions of the book page and the press.”

He praises Henry Holiday’s illustrations to Lewis Carroll’s Hunting of the Snark as “admirable” precisely because Holiday’s decorative feeling in black and white is “marked.” Similarly, he commends Randolph Caldecott’s headpiece to Bracebridge Hall as a good example of Caldecott’s style “when his aim was chiefly decorative.” The recurring criterion is whether the image acknowledges its architectural role within the book’s layout.

Children’s Books as a Field for Decorative Experiment

Crane devotes notable attention to children’s books, which he calls “the only outlet for unrestricted flights of fancy open to the modern illustrator.” He recounts his own early work with the colour printer Edmund Evans, contrasting the “careless and unimaginative woodcuts” of cheap toy books from the 1860s with the more deliberate designs that followed. The turning point, he claims, came from Japanese printed pictures given to him by a naval lieutenant—an influence that led him to adopt “strong outlines, flat tints, and solid blacks.”

He situates his own work alongside that of Randolph Caldecott and Kate Greenaway, though he notes that their aims are “more in the direction of character study” and “more of a pictorial character than strictly decorative.” Crane’s taxonomy here is revealing: he values decorative unity over narrative expression, and he uses his own career as a case study in how craft constraints can spur innovation.

Historical Precedents and the Limits of the Survey

Crane acknowledges that his book is “not nearly so complete or comprehensive as I could have wished,” citing the natural limits of the Ex-Libris series. He selects illustrations to represent “the chief historical and contemporary types of decorative book-illustration,” but he is candid about the gaps. For instance, he mentions that he could not obtain examples from H. S. Marks, whose coloured designs to nursery rhymes he remembers as an early attempt at decoration.

The historical chapters move from illuminated manuscripts to modern presses, but Crane’s focus remains on the ornamental aim. He repeatedly returns to the idea that the best book-pictures are those that respect the page’s architecture—a principle he traces through different periods and techniques. The survey is thus less a comprehensive history than a curated argument for a particular design philosophy.

Craft, Collaboration, and the Designer’s Voice

Throughout the book, Crane emphasizes the collaborative nature of book production. He thanks Gleeson White for “most valuable help” and acknowledges the printers and publishers who supplied examples. His own experience with Edmund Evans taught him “the possibilities” of colour printing, and he credits that partnership with shaping his approach to children’s books.

Crane’s prose is that of a working designer: he speaks of “intervals snatched from the absorbing work of designing,” and he evaluates illustrations by how well they function within the physical constraints of the page. This practical perspective gives the book a distinctive voice—less a scholarly treatise than a master craftsman’s reflection on his trade. The third edition’s revisions, including new chapters on recent developments, show Crane trying to keep pace with a rapidly changing field.

Crane’s book is best approached as a designer’s manifesto disguised as a history. Readers interested in the technical evolution of book illustration will find detailed observations on wood engraving, colour printing, and page layout; those seeking a broader cultural history may need to supplement it with other sources. The value of this edition lies in Crane’s insistence on the decorative integrity of the book page—a principle that remains relevant for anyone concerned with the relationship between image and text.

Crane wanted books to feel whole, every page a deliberate part of the story. There’s something tender in that old care for structure—it reminds me of thumbing through a vast dictionary, not hunting for a fact, just feeling the weight of all those patient entries. I found that same quiet respect in the Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th Edition, "Armour Plates" to "Arundel, Earls of" Volume 2, Slice 6 — Edition Insights, where even the fragments feel like they belonged to someone’s careful afternoon.