Davis and Mackenzie – both experienced designers – created Letraset as a cheaper alternative to phototypesetting, to help speed up the design process. From humble beginnings in an old factory behind Waterloo station Letraset eventually swept across the design world.
Letraset started life as a wet transfer system: you placed the letter into water, carefully slid off the transfer and tried to apply it to the paper without creasing it. Whilst fiddly it was still quicker than hand-painting your letters.
In 1961 Letraset adopted the dry transfer process: letters screenprinted onto a polythene sheet were sprayed over with adhesive. You placed the sheet over the paper and used a pencil to rub over the letter, which detached from the carrier sheet and stuck to the paper. Sometimes.
Letraset stencil masters were cut by hand at a cap height of 15cm from sheets of Rubylith film using a razor blade. A steady hand and keen eye was needed, especially as Letraset produced almost 1,200 typefaces. The original stencils are now at London’s St Bride Printing Library.
However it took some time for Letraset to be taken seriously by designers. Phototypesetting was the industry norm. What Letraset did do was popularise and democratise the world of typefaces and encourage many people to start their own careers in graphic design.
That said, Letraset isn't always easy to use: it’s best to start from the middle letter of the text and work outwards, taking care with spacing as letter widths vary. There's also the nightmare of a letter not fully leaving the contact sheet and tearing as you lifted it off.
There's also a limited number of letters on each sheet, so you often had to cannibalise them to finish your project: cutting the centre bar from an A to make a V, or putting F and L over each other to make E.
Letraset experimented with many new fonts and had a reputation as the go-to resource for ‘now’ lettering. They commissioned almost 500 unique typefaces and in 1970 launched the Letragraphica subscription service to give designers early access to the latest stencils.
Letraset also produced various clip art sheets; these had a very Mad Men feel! In the 1970s it was common to see Punk and New Wave fanzines using these ironically. Letraset (along with cheaper photocopying) helped fuel the boom in home-made magazines and album covers.
The Letraset catalogues were strangely addictive things, but part of the success of the brand was its compulsive nature: why not spend a couple of pounds on a sheet? Especially when it could make your poster / advert / schoolbook stand out from the crowd!
Action Transfers were a spin-off from Letraset fonts; a contact sheet full of colourful images and a cardboard background to make your diorama on. These were licenced to various companies worldwide and covered everything from Star Wars to The Sweeney.
Alas the computer did for dry transfers in the early 1990s: desk top publishing replaced manual layout and Letraset faded from the high street. However as it owned the rights to many of its original fonts which you can still buy these in PostScript format online.
Letraset encouraged many people to start a career in design, and even those who didn’t still learnt a lot about typefaces and layout. From professional designers to DIY publishers it helped fuel a creative boom. Letraset - Twitter salutes you!
• • •
Missing some Tweet in this thread? You can try to
force a refresh
Today in pulp I'm looking back at one of the greatest albums of all time.
What are the chances...
By 1976 Jeff Wayne was already a successful composer and musician, as well as a producer for David Essex. His next plan was to compose a concept album.
War Of The Worlds was already a well known story, notorious due to the Orson Wells radio play production. For Wayne it seemed like a great choice for a rock opera.
Today in pulp I'm looking back at a very popular (and collectable) form of art: Micro Leyendas covers!
Micro Leyendas (mini legends) are a Mexican form of fumetto, small graphic novels normally pitting the everyday hero against the weird, the occult and the unfathomable.
The art of Micro Leyendas is bold, macabre and very funny. The books often tell a cautionary tale of revenge or humiliation, much like a modern folk tale.
Today in pulp: what makes a good opening sentence for a pulp novel?
Now this is a tricky one…
The opening sentence has an almost mythical status in writing. Authors agonise for months, even years, about crafting the right one. Often it’s the last thing to be written.
Which is odd, because very few people abandon a book if they don’t like the first sentence. It’s not like the first sip of wine that tells you if the Grand Cru has been corked! Most people at least finish Chapter One.
The Time Machine, Brave New World, 1984: these weren’t the first dystopian novels. There's an interesting history of Victorian and Edwardian literature looking at the impact of modernity on humans and finding it worrying.
Today in pulp I look at some early dystopian books…
Paris in the Twentieth Century, written in 1863, was the second novel penned by Jules Verne. However his publisher Pierre-Jules Hetzel rejected it as too gloomy. The manuscript was only discovered in 1994 when Verne’s grandson hired a locksmith to break into an old family safe.
The novel, set in 1961, warns of the dangers of a utilitarian culture. Paris has street lights, motor cars and the electric chair but no artists or writers any more. Instead industry and commerce dominate and citizens see themselves as cogs in a great economic machine.