McSweeney’s

(McSweeney's, 1998-2006)

“I think it will be called McSweeney’s, after a man named Timothy McSweeney, who, when I was growing up, used to write long, tortured, often incomprehensible letters to my family, claiming to be a long-forgotten member of my mother’s side (she was Adelaide McSweeney) and outlining when and where he would be in the coming months, should we need to reach him and bring him back into the fold. If it’s not called McSweeney’s, I’ll find an obscure but appropriate word in the dictionary — or, better yet, a word in another language! — and call it that. Whatever its name, it will be about 160 pages, perfect-bound, and will in many ways look like most literary quarterlies. (I mention this to clarify that it will not be what is known, among the youth, as a ‘zine.’)” --Dave Eggers

McSweeney’s did look that way for a long time; Eggers likes to point out that no one there ever had any formal training in book design or production. And there always was an emphasis on the book-as-object. “If we’re to ensure the survival of physical books, these books have to be things you want to buy, hold, bring to bed or the tub or the beach,” Eggers says. But as the staff became more comfortable in its role as accidental designers, the issues began to feel even more awesomely object-like. Issue 7, in 2002, got bookboard and a rubber bellyband; issue 11 had foil stamping and a leatherette casewrap. But McSweeney’s 16 was the first time the book began to look not so much like a book. That issue consisted of a cloth-bound, foldable box containing a comb, a deck of cards, and two smaller volumes. Soon after came issue 17, a bundle of junk mail, and 19, a cigar box full of pamphlets and ephemera.

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