Similarly, this book leaves us without a clue. As you will have already gathered, I am a fan of Joseph Connolly, who put it together. I would have credited him with more gumption. (This is more Forrest Gump.) But those designers are tyrants. They will reject an illustration, however germane it is to the author’s argument, if it is not quite up to their crisp-as-a-matron’s-wimple standard. (Forgive me, dear designer of this book, if you have not been tyrannical; but, if you haven’t I am still waiting for an explanation of this ghastly horlicks.)

Designers are still mighty important. Speaking as an author, I want the jacket of each of my books to scream across a bookshop: ‘BUY ME!’ Too often they have been in dun colours with hard-to-decode titles. The worst ever was my picture book on John Betjeman; the jacket of the first edition could be politely described as chocolate brown and his indecipherable signature was used as title. Connolly’s book shows exactly the difference a good or great designer can make.

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