READ: The World of Miniature Books
I’ll be honest: miniature books have never really been something I could get my head around. I’m an avid bookworm, but I like a book book. Something I can get stuck into; something I could really lose myself in. Something that will successfully transport me somewhere else, with minimal effort on my part except a modicum of concentration (more than a modicum, if you’re tackling Anna Burns’ Milkman) and lifting a finger to turn the pages.
Miniature books, by contrast, just seemed like an unnecessary, unendurable faff. I don’t mean the tiny books that sit, wordless and decorative, inside your doll’s house. I’m talking real, printed and bound doll-sized volumes. Squinting to read the tiny pages; fumbling with those impossibly thin page edges to get to the next indecipherably small wodge of text. And how much of a story can a person really pack into a book smaller than the palm of your hand, anyway?
But over the past year, I’ve come to reconsider. Like so many others, I’ve felt out of control over the last 11 months or so. I’ve felt like I’ve lost control over all areas of my life - my health, my finances, my freedom of movement. Anything could happen, at a moment’s notice: an infection, a furlough, a new government announcement - and there would be nothing I could do about it. Suddenly, the world of miniature books is looking increasingly appealing.
The compacting of a story - and, with it, a kaleidoscope of characterisation, experience and dialogue - into a tiny book that you can hold in your palm as easily as if it were a small pebble suddenly seems to offer a sense of restful, gentle control that the wider world can’t offer us just now.
For example, the British Library delves into the world of miniature books - specifically, miniature books for children. It investigates their historical uses, such as comprising the library in Queen Mary’s Dolls’ House which contained nearly 600 books by authors including A A Milne and James Barrie; but as well as providing historical context, the Library encourages children to make their own miniature books, listing ideas for stories and instructions for the book-making process.
And there you have a crucial appeal of the miniature book - one which I’d never considered before but which now, with my newfound desire to have some sort of control over the world around me, I can fully conceptualise. They can be made at home. Regular, full-sized books have a far more laborious printing process; but the making of miniature books is doable, and is akin to colouring, painting and cross-stitching in the mindful benefits I have no doubt it can offer. It sounds like a wonderful activity for children to partake in; but I suspect adults could similarly reap the rewards from a process that requires creativity, concentration, focus and soothing repetition.
For anyone looking to explore the world of miniature books, there are a multitude of places to start. The British Library has a section dedicated to “miniature books by your favourite authors”, including Katherine Rundell and Jacqueline Wilson. Bromer Booksellers devotes an entire page to miniature books on their site, with more scintillating historical details (three words: Sumerian clay tablets). Previous Shrunk interviewee, author Harriet Muncaster, is a huge fan of mini books and, again, devotes a page to them on her website: with tips and instructions for how to create mini Isadora Moon (her beloved children’s book character) books at home.
And, of course, there’s the treasure trove that is Etsy. There you’ll find a gorgeous Alice in Wonderland, for those who err on the side of the traditional. Perhaps a miniature book devoted to witchcraft, with 32 pages of spells and potions? Or a chocolate miniature book collection: which, needless to say, won’t tell as much of a story but are similarly exquisite in their craftsmanship.
Bromer Booksellers describes holding a miniature book as “like holding a jewel”. I can well imagine. Despite my initial aversion, I’ve started to grasp that story vessels don’t need to be vast, or even full-sized, to invoke emotion, escapism or a sense of calm. How incredible that such a small object can contain such a multitude. Long live the miniature book.