By MICHAEL CAINES
As much as I like a Penguin Classic or a Faber Find, I now find myself increasingly drawn towards the many-splendoured world of art books and sheer odd books – towards the productions of small presses who can’t afford an accountant, let alone an accounts department, and whose tendencies lie in the direction of formal experimentation rather than the usual reassuring formulae.
Perhaps it’s long overdue but I am, belatedly, trying to make up for lost time. A couple of hours at the Conway Hall, at the excellent Small Publishers Fair yesterday, showed me how this Toad of Toad Hall fit of enthusiasm could yet become a bank-breaking if highly enjoyable obsession. . . .