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| The "Judas" Bible in St Mary's Church, Totnes, Devon, UK. This is a copy of the second folio edition of the Authorized Version, printed by Robert Barker, Printer to King James I, in 1613, and given to the church for the use of the Mayor of Totnes. This edition is known as the "Judas" Bible because in Matthew c26 v36 "Judas" appears instead of "Jesus". In this copy the mistake (in red circle) is corrected with a slip of paper pasted over the misprint.[1]"Judas Bible2" by Etan J. Tal - Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Commons. |
It takes all kinds of people to publish the books that we cherish and pass on to our loved ones, including the good, bad, ugly, and indifferent. I've cataloged all the types I could into my brain as I went about my career, full as it is with the facts needed to produce the most complex yet beautifully simple objects humans make. I was there slugging it out in other people's offices, over other people's problems, because I loved it, which was greeted with the necessary amount of derision intended by someone who just realized that they fucked up by assuming all the real book people of the world were gone. Not so.
In recognition of actual genius, even when it was undetected by the unwashed mousy messes I was often forced to work alongside of (and in the process, often giving them a free education that's priceless just to do my job), I amassed quite an impressive head count. At the end of my tenure working under the guise of various "bosses", and when it became blatantly obvious to an entire industry worldwide that I could outwork even the clever rich white "dons" of Oxford U. in an unbeatable quick time (creating a new record, too: took me only a few scant weeks to supposedly upset the "board" and other "shareholders" who were "in charge of covers", which I found out by sweeping right over the head of their favored pet du jour, a pathetic sell-out of a "Creative Director" who allowed herself to be shipped overseas at their back-and-call whenever they felt like it, by pandering to their lily-white asses through her social media to reflect exactly what they wanted to hear, which isn't exactly like setting the world on fire with originality, but I digress), my fellow co-workers took a devilish glee in recording my "head counts" of those fallen comrades who had unfortunately tried to sell their souls to a bunch of real intellectuals who didn't need them, plush as we were (are) with actual credentials and experience.
Actual know-how is a frightening thing when you have no fucking idea about what you're actually doing, much less caring about it, because as every really dedicated teacher has already found out, it takes a hell of a lot more than a pittance of a salary to become your devoted servant. The gap where your overblown salary sits is filled with our genuine heart, and that's not something you can fake on a mere teacher's salary. Just ask any faithful publishing professional. It's enough to make you blanch white, and what rough sport it is, too.
And so, when I met those adoring fans of mine (sometimes unwashed, because a lack of soap doesn't discriminate between good or bad either) in your office spaces who followed my every move over the company's Ethernet network, or cheered aloud when I pushed through another great cover that was in danger of rejection out of spite, sabotage, or corruption, I felt it, even when I knew my crew of production editors who dared to sail with me on one of my last voyages asea* while awash in ill-gotten money, were doomed to repeat themselves because such is the nature of their gifts: harnessing their fretful compulsiveness in the typo-free artwork you all appreciate.
I couldn't do it, but you sure can. Thanks for that. I realize it takes a lot of nerve to man my chair by forcing turf wars over layouts most people will never see, know about, or give two fucks about how long you sweated over it bro, but you made me look good, even when there was no one around who cared enough to know quality work when they see it. I do. Thanks, D'avi. You're a beautifully crazy kid, man, and I could do with a little less stalking, okay? Now get to work! You have a lot of it to do, you petty-ass motherfucker. Just keep your little turf wars off my fucking margins....ya fuck. I'll see you in "Merry Olde Englande"**. You'll be the so-and-so holding the white gloves.
For the production staff at OUP/USA: it was a hell of a ride, wasn't it?
* Davey's world: http://www.word-detective.com/2011/08/asea-at-sea/
** White gloves: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lindisfarne_Gospels
