One would hope the first letter of an alphabet would be stunning. Graceful, full of purpose, strong connections between the majuscule and miniscule forms. And so, while one cannot help but admire the A’s effort, ultimately it is a let down.

The majuscule form has some things going for it: it is strong as hell, there is no taking that away from it. Straight-lines are a little bit overdone in the Roman alphabet, but while later variants on this like the V look like they’re constantly in danger of tipping over or poking someone’s eyes out, the A with that nice cross bar and two feet firmly on the ground ain’t going anywhere. The serif habit of weakening one of the sides can be very attractive, but it also undermines a lot of the A’s strength in symmetry and foundation. Still, I support it from a design perspective, if only because the flat-topped, stick-legged A looks more like a reject from early Mesopotamia than a modern letter form.

The miniscule form has a lot going for it. I might go so far as to say it’s one of my favorite letter forms. I love its cute little belly, the graceful curves that seem to be everywhere at once. I love the way it simply begs to have a little curl up on its tail for the serif-loving, and the way it fits so gracefully in so little space… well, this is simply a marvel.

But wait… these are the same letter? Where in God’s holy name is the connection? Well, they both have… no wait. Oh, but they are both… oh, no, that’s not right. There is nothing these two share. One is supple, the other rigid. One petite, the other awesome in its size. One emboldens the scribe to sweeping gestures of pen, the other seems better suited to a ruler. I am hard-pressed to find any two letter forms that are more different than these two, and calling them the same letter seems almost laughable.

I’m a sucker for curves, I already divulged that. I repeat it now so that you understand just how magnificently the majuscule of this letter has failed. I despise it. Oh sure, some stylizations, particularly serif, try to salvage those beautiful protrusions on the right side. But ultimately one cannot miss the fact that there is a big, ugly line marring any possible beauty it might have. A squat eight would have been so much more attractive, or a line placed partway through the curves, like a doubled-up Phi. Now that would be sexy. That said, you can still do some truly nice things with this form. The double curves allow you to stack them on top of each other in novel configurations. Having a big, protruding belly, with a smaller, cuter top-piece can produce a really amazing form.

The miniscule form, by contrast, is quite nice. The line here works well, grounding the protrusion. Whereas it seems extraneous in the majuscule, on the miniscule it is difficult to imagine the form without it. It would just roll away. All that white-space above the x-height, with just the line to bring the letter into it — truly genius.

Whatever my gripes might be with the line in the majuscule, let’s face it, this is a well-thought out letter. The miniscule really is a baby version of the majuscule, and they are both incredibly strong forms. With just a little bit of tweaking, this could be a truly great letter.

As a letter form, the C is perfect in my appraisal. It’s a nice curve, it offers lots of design opportunities by shrinking or expanding the gap, and adding serifs to the opening can add that special something when you need it.

The problem is not with the form, but with the idea of the form as a letter. A letter should consist of two distinct forms, and this, I am sorry to say, most certainly does not. It’s a problem that only crops up a few times in the Roman alphabet, but it is a serious one. There is a fine line between taking a form and changing its positioning such that it is distinct (see p), and simply repeating the same damn form again (see o, and to a lesser extent, w and v).

Shame on the designer who took this shortcut. What, you couldn’t just toss a line somewhere? Change the orientation of the break? You had options, you slacker, and you chose the path of least resistance. I will certainly never forgive you for that.

For me, the majuscule form of the D suffers from much the same problem as the majuscule B. It’s not that it isn’t a nice form, and it isn’t that I don’t see the advantages to balancing a curve with a line — it’s that the balance achieved by jamming it over to the left is heavy-handed and ultimately unattractive. When you toss in serifs it gets a bit less offensive, but I think a lot of pain could have been saved with a bit more thought towards the design. And while the B has the double-bellies to save it, this is just a stripped-down version that has none of its merits. D seems like a suitable grade for this particular letter. I wouldn’t fail it, but it’s important to send a clear message that this kind of laziness towards design won’t be tolerated.

The miniscule is, on its own, a great form. It suffers mostly from the misfortune of coming after the b in the alphabet, and so appearing to simply be an imitation. I mean, you mirrored an earlier letter, were we not supposed to notice? I tell you what the miniscule d could have used, not just to differentiate it from b, but to kick its fucking ass, and that’s a descender. Man, a miniscule d with some sort of cool descender would just tear the alphabet up. Have you seen a c with a cedilla? That’s how you rock the house. Descenders.

Together these two just don’t have the same connection that b does. While the miniscule b is really just a majuscule B with the top protrusion lopped off, the d doesn’t have that same benefit. Come to think of it, why didn’t they just make the majuscule D a flipped version of the B? It’s not like this designer was worried about stealing her own work.

I’m not going to say the majuscule E is a complete waste. But that’s in a large part because of stylized versions that curve the left side of it instead of using straight lines, making it more like a mirrored three. Yes, the E is strong. It’s about as strong as they come, with the possible exception of A and w. Okay, I take it back. I like the majuscule E. I don’t know what I was thinking. Look at that nice three-part symmetry. Look how you can shrink the middle bar to make it stand out from the other two. Man, that is a tasty letter form. In fact, curving those edges just weakens it. Get your crazy curvy design out of my sweet majuscule E.

The miniscule is one of those perfect letter forms, though. It’s like the miniscule a, only somehow more-so. The problems the c has are fixed and then some with this. It’s not a lazy letter form, it has all sorts of complexity — but that complexity serves to make it easier to read and gentler on the eyes, not less so.

As a combination, these two are dynamite. Okay, so they’re not b, but let’s face it, no one’s going to be b. They don’t have that same obvious parallelism, but on closer examination there’s enough tying them together to play with, and enough of a difference that you are left certain this was not the same guy who did c.

So ultimately I was won over on the majuscule E, in spite of my early concerns about it. The F will never get such a kind treatment from me. E has a pretty amazing strength and symmetry to it that really makes up for any downsides it might have. F is like the design-challenged version of E. Maybe, maybe, if the line to go had been the top one, it would have worked out. A majuscule L with another line, I could have flown with that. But like this? Jesus man, every time I write one I worry it’s going to fall over and like dominoes take down every other letter in my sentence. The majuscule F is a danger to itself and others.

The miniscule, on the other hand, is superb. The cross-bar works well, and the curve at the top is exactly what it needed to give it a graceful demeanor. Miniscule f is a friendly creature, unlike any other letter, and content in its difference.

The pairing works well, even with majuscule F’s notable flaws. There is no mistaking that they are the same letter, but the subtle differences are enough to keep them distinct in writing and reading.

The majuscule G is the work of a designer who really knew her stuff. It takes the C, which had a lot going for it before it screwed it all by copying itself for both forms, and improves upon it. The crossbar allows for a huge range of design possibilities, tweaking the length on either side, adding serifs, and playing with the width of the line. This is one of those letter forms that makes you proud to use a Roman alphabet.

…then comes the miniscule. What the fuck? Seriously. What the fuck? Who designed this? There are two main forms of the miniscule g, and they both look like the product of some depraved madman. The traditional sans-serif form is awkward and bumbling, with lines sticking out, a huge noggin that seems top-heavy at best, and the worst abuse of a descender seen in the alphabet. The more baroque version is beautiful and a work of genius — if this were a Thai alphabet. But in the Roman alphabet it fits in about as well as an igloo in the desert. I can’t help but thinking this form was the work of an overly ambitious project leader bringing in an outside master from a south-east Asian script to do a celebrity character, and not making it clear that it should have any relation whatsoever to the rest of the character set.

Connection? Excuse me? No, I think not. These two make the A look like twins.

The majuscule H is actually quite a nice form. It’s not my personal aesthetic, because of the lack of descenders or curves, but it’s a strong style nonetheless. Honestly, if the entire Roman alphabet had gone with this strategy they would have fared much better, in my opinion. Granted, the majuscule A was probably a better implementation of this general concept, but something about the H just sings to me. You can really see it when it’s left by itself to modify a word, like the H-Bomb. That’s just a strong showing all around.

The miniscule is like somebody took the miniscule b and pissed away all of its boldness. While the miniscule b sits sensually on its curve, the h has these two legs stomped down into the ground as though frightened it will topple at any moment. The curve, usually so adored by me, just seems added on to try to make it distinct.

In spite of my dislike for the miniscule form, these two really do go together fabulously. The miniscule is like the majuscule, only with the upper-right line removed and a curve to the bar. That’s a nice concept, and I wish I liked the miniscule more so I could laud this one as much as I want to. Still, overall it is still a sight better than many of the other contenders.

Oh baby, baby. I don’t think there’s any form about which I feel more strongly when it comes to the different interpretations. When you have those crossbars on the top and bottom, especially if the crossbars sort of taper out, it’s a work of art. It’s just stupendous. Man, I can’t say enough how much I like the majuscule I when it’s done right. Remove those crossbars though? Jesus god. Somebody shoot me. Now, don’t get me wrong. As a minimalist form I’m actually quite into the simple line — when it’s a fucking miniscule l like it’s supposed to be. Don’t put these things at the beginning of a sentence though, and for God’s sake don’t choose them as one of only two letter forms you’re going to isolate as an independent word!

The miniscule i is great. It might be my favorite of all. I have this annoying habit, which I’m sure everyone’s noticed, of transforming all of my text to lowercase with css. In part I do it just because I like it to distinguish my creative writing from my non-creative writing, but honestly a huge part is so that all those i’s get the dot. The dot is brilliant. Had I been in charge of the Roman alphabet project, I would have taken the designer who did miniscule i and j, and that genius would have been in charge of correcting all of the other’s mistakes. This was a designer who obviously had a firm handle on how to jazz up an otherwise mundane letter, and there are plenty of letters that could have benefited from that vision.

The pairing works well. Even with the bar-less majuscule I it works well. I is one of those form combinations that makes for a truly agreeable letter.

Somebody pinch me, I must be dreaming. J is obviously the work of whoever did I, and I was just a warm up. The capital J is great. Everything that made I great is here, but with the most awesome little hook. Would it have worked hooking to the right instead of left? Yes. Would it have been as awesome? No. This thing is just perfect.

And then there’s the miniscule. What can I say? Does it have a dot? Yes. Does it have curves? Yes. Does it have a descender? Why yes, as a matter of fact, it does. Is it one of the most spatially balanced forms we’ve yet seen? You bet your ass. Perfection, thy name be miniscule j.

And the two go together flawlessly! They’re reminiscent of each other. They take up a similar space. The miniscule seems subservient to the majuscule, while still having a strong character of its own. We may as well stop the review right here, because J has won, and ain’t nothin’ going to take that away from it.

This is an interesting one, and worth some careful consideration. It is unlike all of the other letter forms we’ve seen so far, but at the same time fits in with the general aesthetic (unlike that lower-case g from Asia). You can do some creative things with the majuscule form of this, mostly just by changing where on the upper bar the lower bar connects. I like that sort of ease of stylistic tweaking, it appeals to the designer in me.

The lower case is great. You might be expecting me to tear it a new one, as I did the c. But the fact is, while c was literally just a small version of its papa, this miniscule is nearly identical, but with the very clear-cut difference of having the major element to the right not rise above the x-height. That makes it always obvious whether what you’re looking at is majuscule or miniscule. It’s not just a matter of scale, it’s actually a different form.

I think you can guess what I’ll say about the linking of the two forms. Flawlessly executed. Overall, while this letter seems a little “strange” to me, I think that strangeness works. It is different enough, without being just out-of-the-park bonkers, to make me feel like we have some real design potential with this alphabet.

You know, I could go both ways on this majuscule L, I’ve got to tell you. Part of me is just disgusted by it and what appears to be a pretty lame excuse for a design. Ooh, what’d you do? Take a square and cut it in half? Real original, bucko. But after a minute, it really starts to grow on me. It’s sturdy, no doubt about that. There is definitely something to be said for just two straight lines — no muss, no fuss, no complexity. You see it, you know what it is, and it sort of points the way right to the next letter in the sentence. I like that about it, and ultimately I find myself falling in love with it — it’s a bit of a self-conscious love, like falling in love with your cousin. But I’m good with it. I am after all deeply enamored with aspects of minimalist design, and it’s about as minimalist as you can get.

…until, oh no wait, we get to the miniscule. Did I say the majuscule was as minimalist as you could get? Well, someone just proved me wrong. Now this is interesting, and definitely shows how swayed I am by context. I really dislike that majuscule I without the cross bars. I mean, I hate it. Just standing there all alone, or at the beginning of a sentence, is just looks dumb. But the exact same shape in a miniscule works wonders for me. Yes, it’s lazy design, just like its mama. Yes, you might wonder, “Wait a minute, is that a one? Or an exclamation point and I can’t see the space at the bottom? Or a pipeline (for you computer people out there)?” But when you see that sucker in the middle of a word, especially standing right next to a kindred l… well, I think it’s truly a thing of beauty. Doesn’t “allure” really just have a special allure to it? Really really? I love the shape those two make, standing above it all. And if straight isn’t your thing (and I’ll admit, it’s not always mine), you can tweak that sucker however you want. Lines are meant to bend baby, and when your shape is a line, it’s just so easy. Tweak one end up a little and give it a curl. Tweak the other end. Hell, tweak both ends, and set the whole thing at a slight skew. I’m telling you, there’s nothing you can’t do with this bad boy.

I’m not sure I buy their tying together though. I’m not blaming the designer on that, really. I mean, you can’t really tie a line together with anything more than anything else (well, I suppose more than, say, o). The only thing it would really tie with would be, you know, another line. And then I’d be pissed they were just repeating themselves. So I accept they were in a bind. But since it’s a bind they put themselves in, and also since we have no real way of knowing whether this was truly inspired minimalism or just plain laziness, I’m still not getting 100% behind this letter as a whole. Sorry L.

Now this, this is what lines are all about. The majuscule M is a stroke of genius from whoever was in charge of the line-zealots in the Roman design team. Up until now the use of lines has been a bit… dare I say, timid? It was like the designers were worried about using them, and tried to play it safe, often with disastrous results. Either minimalism gone haywire, as in the case of the stripped majuscule i and the miniscule l, hobbling together lines with cross-beams to ensure their stability, or else tacking them on almost as after-thoughts to sensual curves. Not that there weren’t bright moments for the lines earlier on, but this is where they truly come together and shine. The majuscule M is strong and sturdy, even while having a great edge with that point right down the middle (and in type faces where the point is above the baseline? I live for that.), it is wide and luxurious, yet serious enough that you feel good starting a sentence with one. This is one form that has it all going for it.

Oh. My. God. Does anyone else feel a bit dirty just for looking at a miniscule m? I swear, when you try to explain to people how damn sensual typography can be, they give you the weirdest looks. But look at this thing. Really look at it. Those sultry curves? The way it’s almost symmetrical, but not quite, but can be if you really need it to be? This is a letter form that aims to please on every level. Pliable, flexible, and an absolute pleasure to look at. Your eyes virtually roll over its undulations. I’d say the miniscule m was the naughty nurse of the Roman alphabet, but I think she’s sweeter than that, and I shouldn’t judge her for being beautiful. But really, it’s hard not to say it… mmmmm.

Yes. Yes to the m. This designer gets a gold star in every area. Two spectacular letter forms, both tackling totally different areas of design. Strength and sensuality. Lines and curves. Height and a diminutive stature. And they go together perfectly. I mean really, in spite of the fact that they are completely different they are also quite obviously exactly the same. That’s what these designers should have been striving for, and everyone else (are you listening a?) should have been paying closer attention to this lady.

Okay, so my first response is to berate both the majuscule and the miniscule for being obvious rip-offs of the m. I’ll admit it, that’s what I started to write. But then I took a deep breath, and tried to be a bit more objective about it. After all, the majuscule isn’t exactly half an M. The gentler slope is very noticeable, and it gives it a sort of grace that the M doesn’t even have. In fact, other than the superficial similarity, really the two forms are quite different. The entire feel of the N is different, but still quite pleasing. It’s not the M, I will concede that much. For one thing, it doesn’t have the symmetry, and the point feels a little strange being on the outside rather than the inside. But all in all, I think majuscule N is a contender in its own right.

The miniscule is more obviously just a copy of the miniscule m. Just chop off half of the m (doesn’t matter which half!) and you’re left with an n. I can’t say I admire that very much, but it works with the majuscule form, and it’s not like you’re going to confuse the two forms. It even makes for some nice wave action when you get to place the two together, like in mnemonic.

The majuscule and miniscule n have the same beautiful pairing as m, which isn’t surprising, since they are obviously a straight copy. Still, I can’t fault this letter too much for taking an obviously brilliant form and just imitating it. I suspect it was the same designer, not a copy-cat, just wanting to milk a little bit extra out of his masterwork. While b and d show a good example of trying to copy yourself and just producing absolute garbage, I think m and n show that if executed properly it can produce some fairly good (though not as good as the original) results.

Like c, I’m going to cover the majuscule and miniscule in the same paragraph. You know why? Oh, yeah. Because they’re the same fucking form, that’s why. I’m not saying you have to go crazy a or g style to prove your capitals and lowercases are different, but when I see two characters next to each other, I should not have to question whether the difference I’m viewing is due to two different forms, or just a different god damn font size!

The form here is nice, though. A circle is a beautiful thing, it truly is, and I don’t fault the designer for wanting to leave that simplicity unmarred — especially after seeing the results of c. Personally, I like a bit of flourish to the circle to help accentuate it. Is there anything more beautiful than an ö? I think not. That umlaut just brings the entire thing together in my mind. But I digress. My final verdict would be positive here, except that I have a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t an advanced sense of visual aesthetic design that led to this form, but rather excessive laziness. After all, what’s easier than a circle? While I was willing to give the designer who cranked out l the benefit of the doubt, this poor sap has already shown himself to be a lazy hack by failing to even come up with two distinct forms for his letter. So I rather doubt this form was anything more than the result of gross negligence on the part of the designer. Still, discounting its creator’s faults and letting it stand on its merits alone, and ignoring the fact that it is in reality only half a letter, the use of a circle as a form is certainly valid, aesthetically appealing, and useful from a design perspective.

The majuscule P is a failure on all levels. The designer obviously looked at the miniscule b, saw how everyone was raving over it, and decided to just push the protrusion up to the top and call it a day. Not a good idea. Not a good idea at all. This thing looks like it’s going to topple over in the slightest breeze. And there’s just something about it… I don’t know, maybe it’s that it looks like it should be lying on its back flailing around like a drunk frat boy, maybe it’s that sans-serif versions always look like an Arby’s hat on their side… but whatever it is, I simply hate the majuscule P. Hate it.

The miniscule is much better. The descender gives it a little bit of class, and also gives that huge bulbous protrusion a baseline to rest on. I like that in most productions of the miniscule p, the top art of the protrusion doesn’t actually come flush up with the top of the line, but connects a bit further down. I like the creative choice miniscule p seems to leave me with. Everything that was wrong with majuscule P, miniscule p fixes.

The two do go together, though. After all, miniscule p is basically just majuscule P dropped below the baseline and maybe given a bit of a tweak where the ball meets the stick. As a full letter I can’t forgive the majuscule its sins, but I can acknowledge it could have been done worse.

The majuscule Q is a real piece of work. It takes the elegance of the O, the simplicity of the circle, and it makes its own mark upon it. The little tail is absolutely what it needed. The fact that it allows for so much stylistic freedom as well — straight line, squiggly line, entering the circle, staying outside — while still retaining its core form is also well worth applause. Bravo for this form, bravo.

The miniscule is good as well. It takes the miniscule p and mirrors it, which is fine in and of itself I suppose, if a little derivative. But the real genius of the miniscule q comes when a little tail is added to the descender. Sadly the mirrored p is the more popular form these days, but I believe in my heart of hearts that the original designer envisioned the tail.

Why? Because it’s what makes the two tie together so very well. Even without the tail there’s a fairly strong connection between the two forms — a circle with a line coming from the lower-right corner. But with the tail it just drives the point home. As a total letter I think these two forms deserve a lot of respect. They take themes that have been tried on previous forms and really refine them, winding up with something very special indeed.

Majuscule R is a real piece of work. Originally looking at the alphabet I felt it must have been the work of a large number of designers, all working independently of one another. Now I’m starting to rethink that — so many of these later forms have the feel of earlier, flawed designs, really coming into their own. I think what we’re seeing is the growth of individual designers over the course of a project. Majuscule R combines elements from two of the better earlier forms — majuscule B and K — and is undoubtedly the work of the same designer. By combining the elegant curves of majuscule b, and yet integrating that great angular line from k to stop the form from having the lumbering top heaviness of majuscule P, the designer knocks this one right out of the park.

The miniscule form is good in its own right, though a severe let-down after that great majuscule form. I can’t help but feeling like miniscule n was the brilliance of miniscule m chopped in half, and miniscule r is just taking that division one step further. The result is one-fourth the greatness of miniscule m, and we can only thank our lucky stars they stopped this splitting campaign here. One thing I will say for miniscule r: it manages to have a nice overhang without appearing top-heavy, which makes it one of the few letter forms that really integrates white-space in that lower-right corner, something I have often appreciated as a designer.

As an overall letter? I see very little tying together. While not as mind-bogglingly different as past letters, there is very little that ties majuscule and miniscule r to one another. Ultimately I have to express my disappointment, and can only deduce the designer of the majuscule let someone take over for the miniscule (come to think of it, maybe that explains the k as well? perhaps this designer only tackled majuscule forms, and let others do what she saw as the lesser work of miniscules? If that’s the case, I must scold her on it. It reflects poorly on her magnificent work on the uppercase forms to have such drivel tied to them).

Yum! This is my kind of letter form, I have to tell you. All curves — sensuous (look at all the esses in that word), sensual, sexual, and sultry. There is no form in the Roman alphabet that offers itself up more wholeheartedly to amazing design than the s. You can do so much with this form, shrinking the distance between bends, turning up the ends, widening it… it really is as flexible as they come. Majuscule S and miniscule m together are like an orgy of typographical hedonism.

…and then, they had to ruin it. This fucking practice of just shrinking the miniscule form really has got to stop. So you came up with a brilliant form. Great. Let it stand on its own, and come up with something new — perhaps even more astounding — to support it! The designer in charge of s could have learned a lot from m, in terms of deriving a new, challenging, and bold form out of the old. Instead he chose to repeat himself, and there is just no forgiving that.

For the form, this letter is to die for. Because of the lack of a true miniscule form, the letter makes you want to die. Alas.

Majuscule T is another one of my favorites. While majuscule I has the problem of sometimes have bars, and sometimes not, majuscule T always has its bar. I like that about it. And while I probably wouldn’t have designed it simply because I would have been afraid it would seem to top-heavy, I think in the final appraisal it is actually quite sturdy. The removal of majuscule I’s bottom bar seems to just add eloquence to the form, and it retains its steadfastness (especially with serifs grounding it).

Miniscule t is also quite nice. The crossbar is such an easy stylistic element to play with, and I appreciate that. Just by moving it up (not too far or it looks like its mama) or down the post, we get totally different looks. There are some versions of the miniscule drawn without the hook up at the base, and while I can appreciate that for its simplicity and closer connection to the majuscule, I’m still very much in favor of the curl. Slightly reminiscent of j, but with an attitude all its own.

The two go together splendidly, as well. They’re very different, but so obviously the same letter — and that really should have been the goal every designer on this project had hammered into their skulls before they began. This is another one of those that isn’t particularly daring, but really does what it sets out to do with virtually nothing to complain about.

Majuscule U is quite a sexy beast, really. That swooping curve, that open, almost scandalous shape. It’s inviting your eyes in, to this beautifully large negative space bounded on three sides. It is sturdy and well-founded without being flat at the base, which I like.

The miniscule form is actually a very good piece of work. It’s almost an exact duplicate of the majuscule, but that tail on the lower-right distinguishes it with no confusion at all. Good clean design, here.

The two go together well, and make a well-formed letter. Again, not the most daring of forms, but sometimes things are obvious precisely because they’re the right thing to do.

Damn it, majuscule V, you’re trying to steal U’s thunder. But here’s a little hint — if you’re going to blatantly rip off a design, you’d better make sure you’re improving on it, not making it worse. You’ve made it worse. Where majuscule U was sweeping and graceful and sturdy, majuscule V is pointy and looks like it’s going to rock to one side or the other. There are times in design I really like this form — times I want that stabbing point shooting down through other design elements to really tie everything together — so I can’t harsh on this form too much. Loses points for being derivative, gains points for its occasional use as a stabbing weapon.

Miniscule v, you can kiss my ass.

Not a great letter. Only one form, and it’s incredibly derivative of its predecessor. Still, that stabbity action is pretty sweet.

W is just so much sexier to me than V, I have to tell you. Yes, V gets that stabbing point, and W isn’t quite as sharp, but it makes up for it and then some with that balance and stability. The majuscule W is a dominating form, and one which looks amazing on its own. Of course a lot of my love for majuscule M translates directly to majuscule W. But majuscule W isn’t just a flipped version of M, oh no, it has a character all its own. The angled outer lines keep it self-contained while making it embrace the space around it wonderfully. I really, really love this form.

We all know how I feel about this damn majuscule=miniscule bullshit, so I won’t harp on it, except to say this: M already gave you a perfect model — just round the points! — and you should have just stolen it, to hell with the consequences.

This is not my favorite letter-form in the alphabet. But it is the one I admire the most. X is a piece of design perfection. Two slashing lines form a perfect bit of beauty. Its use of space is flawless (there’s a reason we call it x-height). We use x more than any other form as a piece of design, rather than a simple letter. Porn is XXX. Kisses are x’s. Players on one team are x’s. Those who can’t write enough to sign their names just put an x. As a culture we have given a subtle bow to x’s mastery of form by allowing it to transcend the role of simple ‘letter’ into being a piece of art.

Fuck man, I have to admit it, I wouldn’t have changed anything either. X is so obviously a paragon of design that adding or changing anything for the miniscule would have just been silly.

Majuscule Y is a great form. It is one of the proud few majuscule forms that manages to have negative space around the bottom without seeming top heavy and ready to fall over at any moment (P anyone?). I love the fork up there, leaving that nice bit of negative space right in the middle that is so perfectly balanced to the right and left sides. It’s a circle without the circle. Beautiful balance.

The miniscule is another piece of master work. It grounds what miniscule v was trying to be, giving it the stability and grace it needed. The descender on y is to die for — and opens up a whole slew of possibilities for embellishment, which I adore. There are few things as pleasing to the eye as a nice handwritten y with a curling tail.

The two together are just magical. The v shape makes them immediately recognizable as the same form, but they are distinguishable at a glance because of their very different approach to space, and the descender on miniscule. I always feel so blessed when I have a design to work on that uses a y — whether majuscule, ready to dominate the line, or miniscule, to give the design a wonderful flourish (the fact that miniscule y often ends a word is just icing on the cake).

Majascule Z is a great form. Like an N on its side, only… not. It swoops from left to right to left to right, a mirror image of the s, but with more pizzazz (look at that word, it obviously recognizes the action of z). It’s difficult to separate the Z from an image of a sword slicing it into every surface available, and I’m not sure whether that’s the shape itself, or just a cultural imprint I have — but it sure seems like a sword slash, doesn’t it?

Miniscule z is a lazy (note its presence in that word) piece of ass, and I have no pity for it or its designer. What a way to end the alphabet. Sigh.

No doubt in part because of its low frequency in English, but also indisputably because of its gripping form, words that have a z in them almost seem to have no other letter. Look at a sentence with a z somewhere in it, and that z will absolutely rule your vision. From a design perspective, this can be either a blessing or a curse. It is nice when groups brand themselves taking this into consideration, building plenty of z’s into their name to ensure there is always something for the eye to latch on to. I like z. I just wish it had tried a bit harder with the miniscule.

There we have it, my take on the alphabet. No doubt people will disagree with my assessment of many of these letters, and I’m very curious what people think of the letters themselves.

I obviously take the issue of identical majuscule and miniscule forms very seriously, and it influences my overall opinion greatly. It’s not that I think there must be a difference in forms for letters. It’s that it seems half-assed to do it for some of the letters, but not for all of them. No doubt a result of designing by commitee — probably half of the group felt there should be no miniscules, the other half felt there should be two forms. But that’s just lazy, cowardly design. Design should be bold, and if you know something is right, you should pursue it to the ends of the earth. You shouldn’t settle for some bullshit compromise that leaves half of your letters as mere shadows of their luckier counterparts. Who knows what greatness could have been achieved if only O or S had gone that extra mile? What beautiful doors might have been opened up to designers for the last thousands of years?

There is certainly some evidence that this trend was caused by laziness. One need only look at the last fifth of the alphabet, in which only one letter (blessed y) has two forms. Were the designers tiring? Did they feel that this late in the game they could afford to let themselves slack a bit? Then they should have taken a break, I say, and come back refreshed and ready to give it their all. I simply cannot condone such lazy design practices.

All in all, I think the Roman alphabet is a beautiful creation, well in need of an update. This would be an ideal time to create a new alphabet, capable to embracing a wider range of phonemes needed to have a truly equitable global script, and at the same time to offer designers with a more uniform, well-thought out, and multi-faceted alphabet from which to draw inspiration.

So, what are your favorite letter forms? Least favorite? Which do you passionately disagree with me on? De gustibus non est disputandum, and all I have is my opinion, but I am open to being swayed.