Tag Archives: books

The Book With 24 Holes and Almost No Words

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Pick up Sebastian Bergne’s latest publication and you’ll immediately notice what’s not there. No lengthy introduction. No glossy product photography. No dense paragraphs of design theory. Just a small, grey booklet with a punched slot on the cover and 24 pages of quiet, deliberate emptiness inside. It sounds like very little, and that’s exactly the point.

Everyday Holes is Bergne’s first self-published booklet, and it arrives with the kind of confidence that only comes from more than 30 years of experience. An award-winning product and furniture designer, Bergne is one of Britain’s most respected practitioners in the field, the kind of designer who has spent decades thinking carefully about how objects are made and why they look the way they do. A recurring subject in that body of work, it turns out, has been holes. Not as an afterthought, but as a deliberate design element: functional, beautiful, and sometimes quietly meaningful.

Designer: Sebastian Bergne

The book’s format is brilliantly simple. Each right-hand page shows a life-size illustration of a hole or a cluster of holes, with no label, no caption, no hint of any kind. Your job is to figure out where it comes from. The answer is printed on the reverse. That’s the whole game, and it works far better than it has any right to. The moment of recognition, when a familiar shape suddenly clicks into place, is genuinely satisfying. Two small rectangular slots become a plug socket. A dense cluster of dots resolves into a shower head or a speaker grille. Stripped of all their surrounding context, these shapes become strange and new again, like seeing a word repeated until it loses its meaning.

Bergne gives you 24 of these moments, and the small-format, minimal production keeps the focus entirely on the holes themselves. No distractions. No unnecessary colour or decoration. The cover’s punched hang-tag slot doubles as both a functional detail and a dry design joke, which tells you a lot about where Bergne’s head is at. He’s clearly enjoying himself here, and that enjoyment is contagious. It’s rare for a design object to be both rigorous and fun at the same time, and this one manages it easily.

But underneath the playfulness, the book is making a serious point. Bergne’s introductory text argues that holes are not simply features cut into objects. Over time, they become the objects. The eye of a needle is not just a slot for thread. It is what a needle fundamentally is. The two holes in a button are what make it a button at all. Remove the surrounding material and keep only the void, and recognition still holds. That is a remarkable observation, and it quietly reframes the way you look at almost everything once it lands.

It also opens up a more provocative idea: if the absence of material carries as much meaning as the material itself, then perhaps good design is as much about what you leave out as what you put in. For a field that often equates quality with more, this feels like a genuinely welcome counterpoint. It’s a subtle argument for doing less, tucked inside what looks like a charming little quiz book.

As a physical object, Everyday Holes is exactly what it should be. Honest production, restrained design, no excess. It works as a gift for anyone who thinks seriously about how things are made. It works as a coffee table piece that actually starts conversations rather than just sitting there looking expensive. And it works as a solo read, the kind you finish in minutes but find yourself turning over in your head for days afterward.

The best design books don’t just document good design. They change how you see the world outside their pages. Everyday Holes manages that in under 24 pages and almost no words at all. Once you start noticing holes, really noticing them, the grid of a colander, the spacing of a grille, the deliberate placement of a buttonhole, you can’t quite stop. A small book about nothing that somehow changes how you see everything.

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The Hidden Part of Every Book Just Became a Sculpture

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Every book you have ever held has a secret. Not a story buried between its pages, but a structural one, a quiet piece of craftsmanship stitched along the spine that most people never think to look for. A new work by Singaporean artist Adelene Koh not only knows about it. It makes it the entire point.

“Endless” (2025) is a large, ring-like sculpture built from paper, embroidery threads, and aluminum wire. It is meditative in form, circular in structure, and resembles a torus. It is also, depending on how much you know about bookbinding, either immediately legible or completely mysterious. Either way, it stops you. The scale of it, the density of color, the almost compulsive repetition of its construction, all of it registers before you even begin to understand what you are looking at.

Designer: Adelene Koh

What you are looking at is an endband. Or rather, what an endband becomes when it is freed from the book it was always meant to serve. If you have never heard that word, you are in good company. The endband is a structural and decorative element sewn along the head and tail of a book’s spine, a strip of colored thread that adds reinforcement and a quiet finishing touch. It is the part that usually disappears the moment a cover is glued on. Most readers never see it. Most of us never think to ask what is actually holding a book together. “Endless” takes that hidden element and builds an entire object around it, blowing the endband up into something that can finally be seen on its own terms.

The construction method is as considered as the concept. Koh used the front bead method, an 18th and 19th century English sewing technique, worked around a single aluminum wire core. Into that structure she integrated hand-folded and hand-cut pages formed into quires, with additional folds along the fore-edge. The result is not just visually striking but physically demanding to comprehend. The labor embedded in the piece is immense, and the closer you look, the more apparent that becomes. It is the kind of object that rewards slowness and punishes a quick glance.

The material choice deserves its own attention. Paper is usually the fragile thing in the room, the thing that tears, yellows, and eventually dissolves. Here, it becomes the structural backbone. It holds the entire form in place. That inversion feels intentional, a kind of material optimism that refuses to accept the obvious hierarchy between what is precious and what is expendable. Thread, wire, and paper, three materials associated with impermanence, come together to produce something that feels permanent and resolved.

“Endless” was shortlisted for the 2026 Loewe Foundation Craft Prize, one of the more prestigious recognitions in contemporary craftsmanship, and the piece carries the weight of that context well. The prize consistently spotlights work that sits at the intersection of tradition and innovation, and this fits squarely in that space. It is technically rooted in centuries-old bookbinding practice while producing something that looks entirely contemporary. That balance is genuinely difficult to achieve, and rarer than it should be.

I keep thinking about what the design is actually arguing. We tend to celebrate the surface of things: the cover, the finish, the outer form. The integrity of any well-made object usually lives in the parts nobody shows you. “Endless” makes that invisible infrastructure visible, and in doing so, asks a quiet but pointed question about what we choose to hide and what we choose to show.

The 2026 prize was ultimately awarded to South Korean artist Jongjin Park for “Strata of Illusion,” selected by a jury that included architect Frida Escobedo, designer Patricia Urquiola, and curator Abraham Thomas. But the shortlist carries its own weight, and the presence of “Endless” on it feels like a signal worth paying attention to. Bookbinding rarely gets the cultural spotlight it deserves. As a design object, “Endless” makes the strongest possible case for why it should.

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Eran’s Steel Furniture Displays Books Like Artifacts Worth Keeping

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Books tend to get stacked, shelved, and forgotten in most homes. They migrate from nightstand to floor to the corner of a couch, and the one you’re currently reading usually ends up spine-down on whatever surface is closest when you need both hands. Furniture design has solved almost every other interaction you have with objects in a room, but the relationship between people and the books they’re reading hasn’t received much considered attention.

The Totem collection from Eran approaches that problem seriously. It’s a series of stainless steel furniture pieces that hold books as a primary function, not a secondary feature. Each piece has a precisely cut slot integrated into the steel that keeps a book in place, whether closed or open, at a specific height and angle. The slot isn’t decorative. It’s the whole point.

Designer: Fernanda Díaz Tijerina

The collection includes two standing totems and a coffee table, all in brushed stainless steel with a matte finish. One totem is a tall rectangular column with a V-shaped notch cut into the flat top, wide enough to hold an open book by its spine with pages splayed upward like wings above the steel. The other has an angled face cut diagonally from the top, with a slot along that edge that tilts the book upward at a display angle.

That’s a meaningful distinction from a bookend or a reading stand. The totems are floor-standing, placing a held book at roughly chest height, which makes picking it up feel more like choosing something from a collection than retrieving it from a pile. The sculptural quality holds whether a book is in the slot or not, but the slot gives each totem a reason to exist beyond decoration, and beyond what most furniture does with books at all.

The coffee table operates on the same logic at a different scale. A diagonal slot runs across part of the steel surface, holding an open book at a shallow, readable angle while the flat area remains free for other objects. It’s a small structural decision that changes how you interact with the table. A book placed in the slot reads as intentionally parked rather than absentmindedly abandoned, which turns out to be a more significant distinction than it sounds.

Eran’s studio philosophy fuses artisanal work with a vision that connects the past and present, and the Totem name draws on archaeological totemic sculptures found across Mexico. That framing does real work here. A totem holds something up, marks it as significant. Dedicating a piece of furniture specifically to keeping a book accessible and presented changes what the book means in a space, and the collection is made in Mexico, entirely in stainless steel, sitting at the intersection of furniture and sculpture with enough conviction that neither category alone quite covers it.

The post Eran’s Steel Furniture Displays Books Like Artifacts Worth Keeping first appeared on Yanko Design.

The Soviet Union Built UFO-Shaped Circuses. Now You Can Fold One.

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The Soviet Union had a complicated relationship with spectacle. Everything about Soviet ideology pointed toward collective purpose, practical function, and the rejection of excess. And then they went and built circus arenas shaped like flying saucers, out of raw concrete, in capital cities across Central Asia and Eastern Europe. If that is not a contradiction worth paying attention to, I do not know what is.

Cirk, a new book from David Navarro and Martyna Sobecka of Zupagrafika, makes that contradiction its entire subject. The Poznań-based design duo have spent over a decade documenting the brutalist and modernist architecture of the former Eastern Bloc, and Cirk is their latest, most playful entry in that ongoing project. The book surveys the permanent circus arenas built across the former USSR from the 1960s through the 1980s, buildings that, as Zupagrafika puts it, combined “socialist modernism, experimental engineering, and choreographed spectacle.” It is an architectural typology most people have never thought about, and yet once you see these buildings, you cannot stop looking.

Designers: David Navarro and Martyna Sobecka

But the part of Cirk that has people talking is not the photography, gorgeous as it is. It is the second half of the book: five press-out paper models of actual circus buildings, designed for readers to punch out and assemble with nothing but glue. The five models represent the Kyrgyz State Circus in Bishkek, the Chișinău State Circus in Moldova, the Dnipro State Circus in Ukraine, the Great Moscow State Circus, and the Tashkent State Circus in Uzbekistan. Five buildings. Five cities. Five strikingly different pieces of architecture, each one reduced to a miniature you can hold in your hands.

I have a genuine soft spot for paper models, and I think their reputation as a “children’s activity” has always undersold what they actually are. A well-designed paper model is an act of translation. Someone has to study a real building, understand its geometry from every angle, figure out how to collapse it into a flat sheet, and do it in a way that holds together when you fold it back up. That is not trivial when the buildings in question are full of curves, cantilevers, and circular geometry. The circus arenas in Cirk are not simple boxes. Many have sweeping domed roofs and wide cylindrical bases, and the kind of sculptural confidence that makes them look like props from a science fiction film. Getting that geometry to behave on paper requires real design skill, and Zupagrafika clearly has it.

The studio has been producing paper model kits alongside their books for years, so this is familiar territory. But tucking five models into the back of a hardcover book feels like a deliberate choice, not an afterthought. The models are not a gimmick. They are an argument. You can look at photographs of the Great Moscow State Circus for a long time, and it will remain something abstract and distant. When you press out those perforated shapes and fold them into a miniature version of that building, something shifts. The scale changes. The building becomes tactile and personal. You start to understand its proportions in a way that a photograph simply cannot deliver.

There is also something quietly political about the whole exercise. These arenas were built as monuments to Soviet power, intended to be overwhelming and permanent. Reducing one to a paper model is almost cheeky. It takes these grand gestures of ideological architecture and makes them domestic, approachable, collectible. The Soviet state is long gone. Someone is now folding the Great Moscow State Circus on their kitchen table. History has a strange sense of humor.

Cirk is a hardcover running 88 pages, sized generously at 30 by 24 centimeters, giving the models room to breathe on the page. The first half carries photography and historical essays, with a foreword from writer Jelena Prokopljević. It is a complete package: context, visual archive, and the hands-on satisfaction of making something. For anyone drawn to architecture, Cold War history, or just the very specific pleasure of a perforated page coming apart cleanly, Cirk is a book that earns its shelf space. The flying-saucer buildings are absolutely worth it.

The post The Soviet Union Built UFO-Shaped Circuses. Now You Can Fold One. first appeared on Yanko Design.

Studio Darius Ou Just Printed a Book That Reads Its Own Code

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Books have always held secrets. Marginalia scrawled by long-dead readers, watermarks pressed into pulp centuries ago, the particular weight of a first edition in your hands. But Manual, a new project by Studio Darius Ou and Benson Chong, holds a different kind of secret entirely: the literal code of its own making, raised right there on its pages. Let me explain why that matters, because it sounds technical until it doesn’t.

Manual is a fully 3D-printed book, and that phrase alone gets thrown around often enough that it risks losing its punch. But what Darius Ou and Benson Chong have done goes several layers deeper than “printed object shaped like a book.” The raised text embossed across its pages is G-code, the machine language that directed the printer during fabrication. Every coordinate, every movement instruction, every signal the printer received to bring this object into existence lives inside the book itself. The book you’re reading, or rather running your fingers across, is partly a transcript of its own birth.

Designer: Studio Darius Ou with Benson Chong

The printing method is worth understanding too, because it’s not standard. Ou and Chong use an XY-for-Z technique, where the printhead moves horizontally and vertically rather than building straight upward layer by layer. This allows Manual to emerge from the machine already bound, pages and all, in one continuous sequence. No assembly afterwards. No binding stage. No applied graphics. The whole object, text and structure together, comes off the print bed as a finished thing.

For anyone who has spent time thinking about what makes a book a book, that should feel genuinely strange. We’ve separated the process of making from the process of reading for so long that we barely question it. A manuscript gets written, typeset, printed, bound, shipped, and only then read. Each stage is invisible to the next. Manual collapses all of that. The making and the reading occupy the same surface.

I keep thinking about the name. Manual is doing a lot of work in one word. It calls up instruction manuals, the kind of document you consult to understand how something operates. It also calls up “manual” as in by hand, by touch, physical. The raised G-code text can be read through touch as much as sight, which means the book is almost braille-adjacent in how it asks to be experienced. You don’t just look at it. You feel the instructions the printer followed. That’s a design decision I find quietly brilliant, the kind that seems obvious in retrospect but required a very specific way of thinking to arrive at.

The project also nods to a longer lineage of self-replicating and self-referential machines, including the RepRap project, the open-source 3D printer initiative from 2005 that was specifically designed to print its own components. Manual isn’t trying to replicate itself, but it shares that same philosophical preoccupation: what does it mean for a machine-made object to carry knowledge of its own machine within it?

For the design and tech communities, the answer is clearly exciting. But I think Manual has something to offer anyone who has ever picked up an object and wondered how it got to be that way. Most of the time, that story is hidden from us. It lives in factories, in files, in supply chains we’ll never see. Manual refuses that invisibility. It puts the receipt right in the product.

Whether this opens a new chapter for publishing, or remains a provocative one-off, is an open question. I lean toward thinking it plants a seed. As digital fabrication becomes more accessible and designers get more comfortable interrogating their own tools, the idea of objects that document their own making seems less like a conceptual stunt and more like a natural evolution. A book that knows how it was built, and tells you so, is a very different kind of object than one that hides it. Manual makes that difference feel worth caring about.

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This Lamp Finally Belongs on a Bookshelf Because It Looks Like a Book

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Reading lamps have always had a tension with the spaces they occupy. The ones bright enough to actually read by tend to be too harsh for any other use, while the softer ones look nicer but force you to squint by page two. Neither type fits particularly well on a bookshelf, which is where most people want light when they’re reading. That’s a surprisingly overlooked problem for something so common.

That’s the gap Eunsu Lee fills with Folio, a lamp concept that looks exactly like a book and lives exactly where books do. The idea starts from a simple question: if books give us light metaphorically, why shouldn’t that light be given back physically? The answer is a stainless steel lamp sized to stand upright between volumes on a shelf, glowing warmly from between two flat metal panels.

Designer: Eunsu Lee

The form is deliberately stripped down to its most recognizable elements: a rectangle, a spine, a gap. Two stainless steel panels form the covers, with a 3D-printed cap sitting between them to house the LED pin lamp. The LED targets the cap directly without a socket, letting the whole spine glow evenly. The warm amber light it produces is the kind that’s easy to stay beside for hours.

The gap at the base has a more interesting purpose than it might seem. Depending on which way you face the lamp, the character of the light changes entirely. Facing forward, it casts direct light for reading or task work. Turned around, it becomes a soft ambient source, washing the wall behind it. One rotation is all it takes to go from a focused reading lamp to a mood light.

What makes Folio particularly clever is how well it disappears into its surroundings. Slide it onto a bookshelf between a few paperbacks, and it reads as just another volume until it’s on. Set it on a bedside table, and it’s the right size, the right warmth, and exactly dim enough not to disturb anyone who’s already asleep while you finish the last few pages of a chapter.

It works just as well away from the bedroom. On a coffee table, it casts enough light to read by on a sofa without flooding the whole room. On a kitchen shelf, it turns into accent lighting for a corner that usually doesn’t get any. The compact footprint and book-like proportions mean it doesn’t claim much space or demand much attention when it’s not the focus.

The construction behind Folio is deliberately minimal. Lee relied on stainless steel bending for the body and 3D printing for the cap, skipping the need for molds and keeping production straightforward for small batches. The light color is warm, calibrated for the hours around sleep, dim enough to rest beside and bright enough to actually read by. It’s the kind of balance most lamps never quite get right, and it makes you wonder why no one made a lamp that lives on a bookshelf before.

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5 Best Surreal Bookstores That Make You Forget You’re Inside a Building

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A bookstore should do more than sell books. At its best, it alters how you perceive the act of reading, the space around you, and the relationship between the two. The five bookstores in this list abandon conventional retail interiors entirely. They borrow from astronomy, geology, wetland ecology, and mountain landscapes to create spaces where the architecture becomes as absorbing as anything on the shelves. These are rooms that make you forget walls exist.

What connects them is a shared refusal to treat books as products needing display. Instead, each project treats the book as a spatial protagonist, something that informs the shape of ceilings, the curve of shelves, and the way light enters a room. From a portal to deep space in Jiangsu to a mountaintop perch above a river canyon, these bookstores prove that the most effective retail design does not sell to visitors. It transports them.

1. X+Living Bookstore

Located in Jiangsu Province and completed in 2023, this bookstore by Li Xiang of X+Living studio is the furthest thing from a cozy reading nook. The space is built around massive three-dimensional structures that resemble astronomical instruments, concentric rings, and geometric forms inspired by celestial mechanics, reimagined as bookshelves and display zones. Books sit on these structures in positions that seem to defy gravity, creating the sensation of browsing a library adrift somewhere in deep space. The project won the 2025 Platinum A’ Design Award in Interior Space and Exhibition Design, which signals how far the concept pushes beyond conventional bookstore interiors.

The spatial ambition is the story here. Most bookstore designers work with shelving grids and lighting schemes. X+Living built a set piece. The concentric ring structures occupy the room not as furniture but as architecture within architecture, turning navigation into an experience of orbiting through layers of books arranged on curving, tilted surfaces. The scale of the installation relative to the room makes it impossible to separate the act of browsing from the act of inhabiting the space. Visitors are not walking through a store. They are moving through a constructed universe that happens to contain books.

What we like

  • The astronomical instrument forms function as both structural shelving and immersive scenography, collapsing the boundary between retail and installation art.
  • The Platinum A’ Design Award validates a level of spatial ambition that most bookstore designs never attempt, let alone execute at this scale.

What we dislike

  • The dramatic structures may prioritize visual spectacle over browsing comfort, making it difficult to linger and read in a space designed to overwhelm.
  • Wayfinding through concentric, gravity-defying shelving is disorienting by design, which can frustrate visitors looking for specific titles rather than an experience.

2. Toyou Bookstore

Wutopia Lab designed Toyou bookstore inside a red-brick building by Jean Nouvel in Shanghai’s Huangpu district, using traditional Chinese garden techniques as spatial logic rather than decoration. The interior is organized around two abstract mountains, “Big You” and “Little You,” which form interlocking cave-like spaces out of burgundy perforated aluminum panels and white artificial stone. The “Little You” mountain greets visitors at the entrance as a glowing white bookshelf, while the larger “Big You” mountain houses the main reading and living areas behind layers of bookshelves that create new views at every turn.

The garden-design principle at work here is “a view at every step,” and the architects execute it with the kind of precision that makes each transition between spaces feel composed rather than accidental. A circular “secret place” sits between the two mountains as a private reading zone, while hidden metaphors (a well, a dripping spring) reference classical Chinese poetry. Lead architect Yu Ting has described the bookstore as a tool for understanding Shanghai itself, a miniature cultural complex that accepts readers and non-readers alike. The result is a space that feels ancient and contemporary at once, where cave walls are made of perforated aluminum and mountain peaks are bookshelves.

What we like

  • The garden-design approach creates a sequence of spatial discoveries that rewards slow movement and repeated visits rather than efficient browsing.
  • Wutopia Lab’s decision to house the bookstore inside a Jean Nouvel building creates a layered dialogue between two architectural languages.

What we dislike

  • The cave-like enclosures and perforated panels limit natural light penetration, which could make extended reading sessions uncomfortable without careful artificial lighting.
  • The density of metaphor (mountains, wells, springs, caves) risks reading as overwrought to visitors unfamiliar with Chinese garden-design traditions.

3. Xixi Goldmye Bookstore

What started as a forgotten 20-year-old office building in Hangzhou’s wetlands is now one of the most compelling adaptive-reuse bookstores in China. Atelier Wen’Arch stripped the structure to its bare concrete columns, dismantled the existing roof and wall systems completely, and rebuilt an 880-square-meter space that opens generously to the surrounding Xixi National Wetland Park. The U-shaped building, once closed off and disconnected from its natural setting, was completed in April 2025 as a structure that treats the wetland landscape as its primary interior surface.

The defining feature is a system of laminated pine timber “book beams” that intersect with the original concrete columns and extend outward in measured cantilevers. These double-beam elements integrate lighting and air conditioning return channels between each timber pair, turning mechanical infrastructure into an architectural rhythm that runs through the entire interior. The beams frame views of the wetland, so the surrounding nature becomes a living artwork visible from every reading position. The structural intervention aligns with the original building grid while introducing warmth and human scale to what was once sterile office space. It is renovation as reinterpretation, where the old bones inform a new spatial logic.

What we like

  • The “book beam” system transforms structural engineering into the primary design language, making infrastructure legible and beautiful rather than hidden.
  • Opening the formerly closed U-shaped plan to the wetland park turns the surrounding landscape into the bookstore’s most powerful design element.

What we dislike

  • Wetland-adjacent construction faces ongoing humidity and moisture challenges that will test the longevity of the laminated pine timber beams.
  • The remote wetland location, while scenic, limits foot traffic compared to urban bookstores, raising questions about long-term commercial viability.

4. Xinglong Lake Citic Bookstore

MUDA Architects designed this waterfront bookstore around a single image: a book falling from the sky. The rectangular structure sits at the edge of Xinglong Lake in south Chengdu, and its swooping roof extends for 3 meters with both ends elevated at different heights (16 meters at the southwest, 7.5 meters at the northeast). The curve mimics a nearby grass slope, creating a continuous visual line between the built form and the landscape. Massive windows extend below the waterline, merging the reading interior with the surface of the lake.

The roof is the architectural argument. Its curved surface reinterprets the pitched roof of traditional Chengdu vernacular architecture while functioning as a structural analog for the pages of an open book. The asymmetric elevation creates interior volumes that shift dramatically from one end to the other, high and cathedral-like at the southwest, compressed and intimate at the northeast. That gradient gives each section of the bookstore a different spatial character without partition walls. The underwater windows are the most disorienting detail: readers seated near the water level see the lake from inside it rather than above, which dissolves the expected boundary between interior and landscape in a way that no amount of floor-to-ceiling glazing can replicate.

What we like

  • The asymmetric roof creates a gradient of spatial experiences within a single open interior, from expansive to intimate, without any walls.
  • Below-waterline windows dissolve the boundary between the reading space and the lake, producing a perspective that no conventional glazing strategy can achieve.

What we dislike

  • The roof’s dramatic curvature dominates the structure so completely that the bookstore’s identity is inseparable from a single architectural gesture, leaving little room for the interior to develop its own language.
  • Waterfront and below-waterline glazing demand constant maintenance and waterproofing attention that will compound as the building ages.

5. Nujiang Grand Canyon Bookstore

Perched on top of the Gaoligong Mountains in Yangpo Village, the Nujiang Grand Canyon Bookstore is built to feel like it belongs to the terrain rather than sitting on it. The structure extends outward from the mountainside like a sharp arrow, a form that references the Lisu people’s historical connection to crossbows. Reinforced concrete and locally sourced materials anchor the building to the slope while keeping its environmental impact low, and wall openings frame specific views of the Nujiang River and surrounding peaks.

The architectural intelligence is in how the building negotiates the slope. Rather than flattening the site or building a conventional foundation, the structure adapts its footprint to the mountain’s gradient, creating a subtle sense of elevation that rises with the terrain. The framed canyon views through the wall openings function as curated compositions rather than generic panoramas, each one selecting a specific relationship between river, peak, and sky. The combination of contemporary concrete construction and local material traditions creates an object that reads as both modern and rooted, a building that could not exist anywhere else. For a bookstore, that site-specificity is the rarest quality of all: a space where the location is not a backdrop but the reason the architecture exists.

What we like

  • The arrow-like form references Lisu cultural heritage in a structural gesture rather than a decorative motif, embedding local identity into the building’s shape.
  • Framed wall openings curate specific canyon views as compositions, turning the landscape into a series of deliberate artworks rather than a passive backdrop.

What we dislike

  • The remote mountaintop location, while spectacular, creates significant accessibility challenges for visitors without private transport.
  • Reinforced concrete construction on a steep mountain slope carries long-term structural monitoring requirements that increase maintenance complexity.

When The Room Is The Story

These five bookstores share one conviction: that the space around a book matters as much as the words inside it. A celestial instrument in Jiangsu, a pair of abstract mountains in Shanghai, timber beams framing a wetland in Hangzhou, a roof shaped like a falling book in Chengdu, and an arrow launched from a mountaintop above the Nujiang River. None of these projects treats architecture as a container. Each one treats it as content.

The best bookstores have always understood that reading is a spatial act. Where the body sits, what the eyes see between paragraphs, how light changes across an afternoon, these conditions shape the experience of a book as much as the typography on the page. These five take that understanding and build entire worlds around it. Walk into any of them, and the building becomes the first chapter.

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This Concept Makes Reading a Physical Ritual, Not an App Reminder

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The intention to read a physical book more often usually gets buried under phones, streaming, and vague guilt about never finishing that stack on the nightstand. Reading is not just opening a book; it is a whole arc from deciding to start to actually making it through chapters without drifting away. Lead is a small family of objects designed to sit around a book and quietly support that arc.

Lead is a design concept that treats reading as a story with a beginning, rising action, climax, and resolution. The name is a contraction of “Let’s read” and the first word of the slogan “lead back to the era of reading,” and the system uses three products, Bookeeper, Candle, and Quill, to give each phase of a reading session its own physical cue instead of relying on app notifications you will probably dismiss.

Designers: Yoo Chaeyeon, Kwon Eui Hwan, Yang Jinoo, Lee Sooyeon, Ha Seongmin

Coming home, you drop your book into Bookeeper, where it sits hidden behind a calm green panel. Earlier, you set a time to read, and as that moment approaches, the base lifts and the book slowly emerges from behind the screen. Instead of a phone notification buzzing and vanishing, the book itself appears, a quiet reminder that this is the slot you promised yourself you would actually use.

Candle is a slim vertical light that links to Bookeeper by default, then switches into timer mode with a twist of its ring. Before you dive into the pages, you set how long you want to read, and Candle becomes both atmosphere and clock. As you move through chapters, you can sense how your pace matches the time you set, adjusting speed without feeling chased by a digital countdown ticking in the corner.

When a line or idea sticks, Quill is a smart pen that lets you write by hand in a notebook or margin, then flip into scan mode to store that text on a device later. It has two main modes, transcription and scan, so you can copy favourite phrases, jot down reflections, and then capture them without breaking the flow. A bookmark element on the back lets Quill rest in the book when you pause.

All three objects share dark bases and a calm, translucent green for the parts that move or light up, so they feel like a family without shouting for attention. The interactions are borrowed from analog reading rituals, taking a book off a shelf, lighting a candle, picking up a pen, but layered with just enough technology to guide habit without dragging you back to a screen.

Lead is less about adding gadgets to the reading table and more about designing a gentle structure around a physical book. Bookeeper brings you back at the right time, Candle holds the space and the clock, and Quill helps you remember why the session mattered. When reading often gets squeezed between notifications and feeds, a trio of objects that simply lead you back to the page feels like a quietly radical idea.

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MG Raiser Doubles Up Your Manga Shelf Without Hiding the Back Row

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Bookshelves quietly go from single row to double row, especially for manga where volumes multiply quickly. The front row looks great, the back row disappears behind it, and you end up playing memory games to remember which volume is hiding behind which spine. Collectors accept this as the price of a growing library, even though it makes browsing and rearranging annoying and means half your collection is essentially invisible unless you pull out the front row.

MG Raiser from MangaGuardian is a tiny shelf adapter that takes that double-row habit and makes it less painful. It is a compact L-shaped stand that lets you display two rows of manga in the same footprint, with the back row raised just enough to stay visible. Simple plastic geometry aimed squarely at overcrowded shelves, it solves a niche problem that anyone with more than 20 volumes has quietly dealt with at some point.

Designer: MangaGuardian

Sliding a few MG Raisers onto a shelf and lining up volumes, the front row sits where it always has, but the back row now rides on a small platform. You can still read every spine, which makes it easier to grab the next volume or rediscover something you forgot you owned. You get roughly twice the capacity in that section without turning the back row into a black hole where titles go to be forgotten.

The block-lift function is where the design gets a bit more clever. The back row and the Raiser act as a single movable unit, so when you want to reorganize you can pull out the entire raised row at once and drop it somewhere else on the shelf. For people who like to re-theme shelves, group arcs, or rotate what is on display, that small interaction saves time and keeps stacks from collapsing mid-move.

Each MG Raiser holds up to 10 items, typically five in front and five in back, with 84 mm width, 170 mm depth, and 150 mm height tuned for standard tankōbon-sized manga. The same proportions work for other similarly sized things, small paperbacks, light novels, or even game cases, so the design quietly extends beyond its original niche and could help anyone trying to squeeze more out of limited shelf space.

MangaGuardian sells other components like MG Tana and MG Sora for more elaborate setups, but MG Raiser stands on its own as a drop-in upgrade. You can use a couple in a single cube, line up several across a long shelf, or mix them with plain rows. It respects whatever furniture you already have, which is important when your shelves are already full of things you care about.

MG Raiser is unapologetically aimed at manga fans, yet the underlying idea, a raised second row that moves as a block, could help anyone trying to squeeze more out of a bookshelf without turning it into chaos. It is the kind of small, almost remedial design move that feels obvious once you see it, and that is usually a sign the designers were paying attention to how people actually live with their stuff instead of just offering another decorative shelf cube.

The post MG Raiser Doubles Up Your Manga Shelf Without Hiding the Back Row first appeared on Yanko Design.

Apple Music releases limited-edition coffee table book version of 100 Best Albums

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When you’re searching for a definitive “best of” list, especially relating to music, you probably search for it on YouTube or streaming services like Spotify or Apple Music. You don’t really look for a book to read since it’s missing the multimedia aspect that comes with most of these lists. But if it’s a very pretty, limited edition coffee table book, you probably might consider getting that instead.

Designer: Apple Music

That’s what Apple Music is hoping for with the release of Apple Music: 100 Best Albums, a companion to the list that they have previously published online. The list was compiled by their team of experts together with some artists like Pharrell Williams, Charli XCX, J Balvin, and Maren Morris. You can own this list presented in a minimalist but expensive looking book that you can display at home for bragging rights. Actually reading it is another thing of course.

The book has the album cover on one side and then the liner notes and in-depth analysis on the other side. It has a custom-designed translucent acrylic slipcase with the Apple Music logo etched on it. It has a linen hardcover debossed with the logo and the edge of the pages are golden gilded. The back of the case has the edition number and inside you have the hand-numbered ex libris.

The reason for the numbers indicated is that there will only be 1,500 pcs produced so they emphasize the limited nature of this item. That’s also the reason why the price tag for this coffee table book is pretty expensive. It is now available for pre-order for those willing to shell out $450 for it. I will probably stick to reading the list online and streaming it on my music service of choice.

The post Apple Music releases limited-edition coffee table book version of 100 Best Albums first appeared on Yanko Design.