Die Büchergilde

Buechergilde beitrag

I’m always on the lookout for beautiful books and handsome editions, and of course I came across the Büchergilde quite some time ago. The Büchergilde places particular emphasis on high-quality craft and artistic book design. That’s exactly what I love, and it’s only natural that over the years I’ve picked up one book or another from them. In this post, I want to report in more detail on that and share a bit about what I really like about Büchergilde books—and what has convinced me less.

The Büchergilde Gutenberg, based in Frankfurt am Main, has existed since 1924 and emerged from the trade-union environment. The small publisher has had a turbulent history; after the National Socialists seized power, it was brought into line and relocated to Switzerland, where it was very successful with over 100,000 members. Only after the war did it return to Germany and resume work there. For a long time, the Büchergilde belonged to a trade-union holding company, but in 2015 it became a cooperative. According to an interview with managing director Alexander Elspas, the Büchergilde had around 62,000 members in 2018. Its offerings include high-quality licensed editions, beautiful classics and contemporary literature, English-language folio-format editions, as well as music, films, audiobooks, and attractive little accessories.

The concept is that you can become a Büchergilde member for free and cancel at any time, but you commit to buying one book per quarter. This runs by calendar year, not from when you signed up. I find this business model quite antiquated—very much like the ’80s and the Bertelsmann Club. In the age of the internet, Amazon, and the consumer’s right to return items at any time, it feels odd and off-putting. In fact, that was a reason for me to wait and save up until I had enough books together to make the premium membership worthwhile. If you remain a member for at least a year, you get one book for free—though the choices are limited and not all titles can be selected as a premium book. In practice, you don’t really save anything, because if your order stays under €35 you pay €4.50 shipping (which also feels out of date), and summed over a premium year, you’ve basically “paid” for the fifth book via shipping costs. Once I had five books I wanted, I signed up, had the first two sent, and then ordered the remaining books quarter by quarter. I’m not sure this concept really fosters sales, because I ended up artificially delaying purchases to meet the quarterly requirement.

The Büchergilde offers newly designed licensed editions. That means these books already exist in another version, but the Büchergilde reissues them as handsome editions. And there are a number of books I really liked and absolutely wanted. These include Mansfield Park by Jane Austen, which looks lovely with its linen binding, beautiful illustration, and matching red edge-staining. I also found Jane Eyre very nicely designed. Whitman’s Life and Adventures of Jack Engle had been on my wish list for a long time. A few years ago, I ordered Captains Courageous by Kipling from the Büchergilde in a truly wonderful illustrated edition. I’ve also owned Heart of a Dog for quite some time. Digging through my shelves I also found a few antiquarian Büchergilde titles: B. Traven’s The Death Ship and Jack London’s The Call of the Wild, which I once picked up on eBay for a few euros as very old Büchergilde editions.

When it comes to the design of Büchergilde books, I’m torn. On the one hand, there are truly beautiful editions like those mentioned above. The linen bindings and their illustrations are especially successful and feel very high quality. The cover art on The North Water by Ian McGuire is finely drawn and, to my eye, many times nicer than on the original publication. There’s also almost always a ribbon marker. On the other hand, there are numerous books I don’t like at all, often sporting a pseudo-modern illustrative style—abstract and austere—that probably appeals only to a small art-scene crowd. Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy is a particularly unfortunate example; I wonder who approved such an unsuccessful jacket design—especially if you know the very attractive original edition from Hanser, which I reviewed Like this: