· 3 min read · Feb 14, 2017
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milk and honey by Rupi Kaur is a collection of poetry about love, trauma, and healing. Each chapter deals with a “different kind of pain,” in Kaur’s words. At first self-published by Kaur in 2014, the book was met with acclaim and has now been published under Andrews McMeel Publishing.
Physical
- Softcover
- Perfect bound
- 5 x 7.75 in, approximately 204 pages long
- Printed entirely in black and white (save for “New York Times Bestseller” on the front in a burnt orange colour)
- Simple, naive line illustrations by the author to accompany the poetry
- Set in Times New Roman
Conventional
Kaur’s anthology begins traditionally: a half-title page, a title page, a spread with the copyright on the verso and an acknowledgment on the recto. The following spread has a four line poem which speaks to the process in which this book was created:
“my heart woke me up crying last night
how can i help i begged
my heart said
write the book”
On the recto, the table of contents is listed. The book is organized into four chapters: the hurting, the loving, the breaking, and the healing. All of the pages leading up until now are printed black with white text, save for the half-title and title page. Once the poems begin, the book is set entirely on white pages with black type and illustrations, except for the chapter pages introducing each new section.
Connected
“New York Times Bestseller” is set in all-caps, printed in a burnt-orange ink at the bottomof the front cover. Otherwise, there are no blurbs or publishing reviews to draw readers to milk and honey — by now, the anthology is ubiquitous in the bookcases of young women everywhere.
Aside from this subtle instance of ethos, the anthology makes use of atmosphere (pathos) to appeal to the reader. The simple line illustrations and typesetting make the book not feel so overly “designed” — you could imagine that it’s simply Kaur’s diary, not a bestseller. The raw emotion of the poems are what is meant to draw you in, not the design.
I appreciate the somewhat naive design of the book. It’s almost entirely black ad white, and uses Times New Roman throughout, a default system font. Times New Roman set at 12pt might be considered a sin by most designers, but I appreciate that the book focuses on the poems without any frills. I didn’t choose to study this book because it’s a beautiful example of design, per se, although it’s certainly charming in its restrained simplicity — I chose this book because the poems resonate with me so deeply.
