The first thing about a book is the way that it feels in your hand. That way is halfway.
The other half is what it says to your head. Consider the book as an object: all the time it's
speaking to you, you're holding it. If it's fighting your fingertips, then your head doesn't have
a chance. This relationship between object and subject is at its strongest when extreme
content arrives in accessible form, one that makes the strange familiar, and the familiar strange.

All books are guidebooks. They require of their makers decision after decision. Even a fantastic subject
is something the reader won't want to go towards if it isn't stripped down, thrown open, put together.
"Books do furnish a room," wrote the novelist Anthony Powell. But to be more precise, it's the spines of books
on shelves that furnish a room, that provide a space with a sense of place, of anticipation, of intent.
I look at spines more than I look at books. I'll pick up and soon put back a book with a great spine,
not because it isn't a great book, but because I don't want to know too much about it-because I want always,
at first, to have a foot in the unknown.

Peter Miles Studio
650 East 6 Street Apt 1
New York NY 10009

212 358 7991
email@petermilesstudio.com