It gets more difficult for books to take me by surprise, as I get older. It may be down to the books I read, but I tend to find this in comics more than in prose (my generation never called them ‘graphic novels’, but this is what I’m talking about).

My love of comics goes back to the dawn of my literacy – the combination of story and images speaks to me very strongly. During my thirteenth year a new magazine called βαβέλ (babel) hit the newsstands in Athens, translating into Greek a knowledgeable selection of mostly European comics. Monthly instalments of anarchic, fantastical, irreverent, and sometimes profound illustrated stories held a mirror up to two deeply messed up decades, full of crises, political fluctuations, and social unrest. Post-1968 European artists had little patience for the self-absorbed, blathering demigods of 2000AD or Marvel. Instead, I got Liberatore and Tamburini’s dystopian Ranxerox, anticipating the broken down cities of Blade Runner; Édika, Gottlieb, and Lauzier, showing up the absurdities of urban middle classness; the dark, black humour of Altan and Vuillemin (still going strong); and Reiser, subversive even thirty years after his death. I balanced these with Will Eisner‘s deeply human stories, Hugo Pratt‘s languorously adventurous Corto Maltese, and Manara’s extended Bergman stories: like Corto Maltese, a man caught in a turbulent stream of fate, but dealing with his predicament rather less gracefully. (By the way, has anybody noticed that Hayao Miyazaki’s Porco Rosso is really a porcine Corto Maltese?)

The French and Italians dominated my early collection: Giardino, Battaglia, Varenne, Saudelli, Crepax, most of them alternating between adaptations of noir story lines and wonderfully indulgent fantasies. I suspect that my love of noir literature was seeded with Abuli & Bernet’s Torpedo, and Muñoz & Sampayo’s Alack Sinner. These partnerships of superb storytellers and image-makers (Spanish and Argentinian, respectively) have superlative peers today: Darwyn Cooke’s coldly amoral Parker, an exceptional translation of Richard Stark‘s character, is rivalled for impact by Jacques Tardi’s adaptation of Manchette’s West Coast Blues. I re-read both frequently: they are masterpieces of telling a story with the least expenditure of words: only situation, and action.

All of these stories have characters (men, mostly) in different stages of coming to terms with a world that exceeds them. In noir, the main character may have the odds stacked against him, but has perseverance, cunning, and strength to carry him forward. The most interesting stories introduce any range of character flaws, making the personalities more human. Unlike Stark’s ruthlessly efficient Parker, Andrea Pazienza‘s Zanardi is amoral in a self-destructive way, just as Moebius‘ John DiFool is a hunkering coward. By far my favourite ‘man-in-over-his-head’ character has been Pierre Christin & Enki Bilal‘s Alcide Nikopol: dislocated in time (through a bungled hibernation) and frame of reference (an Earth where ancient Egyptian gods play politics) he strives to adapt while still sucking in as much of this new world he finds himself in.

I knew Fábio Moon and Gabriel Bá from De-Tales (and Bá from The Umbrella Academy). A few days ago I got a copy of Daytripper. I started reading, and it hit me like a sledgehammer.

The book is about Brás, a man with ambitions to be a writer, a good father, a worthy son, and a friend. Each chapter picks one part of his life, but weaves in the storyline the unpredictability of accidents, a series of plausible ‘what ifs’ which interrupt the storyline. This is a device every Greek understands well: the Three Moirai (or Three Fates), Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos spin, apportion and cut the thread of life. (Yes, that’s the origin of the phrase.) In the Daytripper the story picks up in the next chapter, the point of interruption unknown. This wonderful device, a cross between parallel universes and a linear world, is life laid bare: a microcosm of emotions and personal, immediate relationships, within a maelstrom of unpredictability. Most will pass with little effect, some will upturn everything.

There is a lot to read in Brás’ desire for his life to exceed the limits of the immediate action and relationships. He strives to be a good friend, and father, but has deeper desires: he captures perfectly the frustration at the heart of the modern human condition, where a wider consciousness, contemplation, and ambition can place seemingly insurmountable obstructions. For most of the Daytripper, Brás embodies F Scott Fitzgerald’s famous aphorism: ‘This is what I think now: that the natural state of the sentient adult is a qualified unhappiness.’

The dialogue is economical, like reality distilled. With the excess of words removed, the force of the environment and the unspoken, imagined expressions become more powerful. And it underlines the unspoken moments, when what is not said is more powerful than paragraphs of text. This is right at the heart of the power of comics: the illustrator does not supplant the visual imagination of the reader, but fires it up and channels it in new directions. The experience of reading becomes imaginatively richer because of the presence of images.

The women in Brás’ life offer a fascinating insight into the mind of the troubled male. They are ever-present, but in the periphery; they represent the family, continuity, and the next generation, but do not share in his contemplation. Only towards the end do we see a shift: when the son has taken on the role of father himself, companionship and affection have proven a stronger constant. This is juxtaposed with the role of Jorge, Brás’ friend: stronger in intensity, alternatively present and missing, catalytic at times, but ultimately absent. The overarching feeling of solitude, the man and his thoughts alone, is accepted and embraced brilliantly at the end of a life full of people.

The Daytripper is the best example of visual poetry I have read in quite a while.

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Six observations, four challenges, one conclusion, and five predictions…

 

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I sent mine to Chris Fackrell, who tested and repaired the power supply, then punched a hole on the baseplate to enable ventilation. Well, ‘punched a hole’ is what I would have done; what Chris did is indistinguishable from OEM work, save for the use of a metal mesh (which does look better than the cutouts in plastic Apple would have used, if they had designed the thing with adequate ventilation). He also replaced the hard drive, so I got a hefty upgrade in capacity.

The cost of doing this was less than the cost of a new Time Capsule, which would be in risk of failing itself anyway. And much less that the cost of a new Base Station and a NAS, which is what the Time Capsule is in my setup.

If you’ve got one, check it out. My warning signs were overheating of the case, and brown marks on the baseplate.

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1. all accented letters lose the tonos; and
2. all instances of the dieresis remain.

Difficulties arise with round-trip conversion (reversing to lower-case), capital-to-lower-case conversion, the handling of proper names with accented initial letters, and diphthongs or double vowels. We will look at each case below.

According to the first rule, the conversions are:

ά > Α,  έ > Ε,  ή > Η,  ί > Ι,  ύ > Υ,  ό > Ο,  ώ > Ω

(When α ε ο are not parts of a dipthong with ι! See below for these cases.)

Here are some examples:

πάμε τώρα >  ΠΑΜΕ ΤΩΡΑ

έλα πίσω > ΕΛΑ ΠΙΣΩ

φύγε μόνο εσύ
 > ΦΥΓΕ ΜΟΝΟ ΕΣΥ

According to the second rule, the conversions will be:

ϊ > Ϊ,  ϋ > Ϋ,  ΐ > Ϊ,  ΰ > Ϋ

Here are some examples:

φάγαμε καϊμάκι > ΦΑΓΑΜΕ ΚΑΪΜΑΚΙ

φύσηξε ο μαΐστρος > ΦΥΣΗΞΕ Ο ΜΑΪΣΤΡΟΣ

έχει αϋπνία > ΕΧΕΙ ΑΫΠΝΙΑ

επιτυχής εξαΰλωση >
 ΕΠΙΤΥΧΗΣ ΕΞΑΫΛΩΣΗ

Note that both ϊ and ΐ convert to Ϊ. Similarly, both ϋ and ΰ convert to Ϋ. This means that, unless you have access to a dictionary, you do not know if a capital Ϊ or Ϋ should convert to a lowercase ϊ or ΐ (and ϋ or ΰ respectively). The problem is solved if the capital forms arise from conversion of a correctly keyed in lowercase ΐ or ΰ, but not if the capitals have been keyed in directly: in those cases, it is highly likely that the user typed the standard keystroke for a Ϊ or Ϋ.

This assumption is supported by standard keyboard layouts for Greek, which are based on typewriter conventions, and do not anticipate case conversion issues. Not surprisingly, the basic Unicode Greek set has only one form of  Ϊ or Ϋ at U+03AA and U+03D4 respectively. The extended Unicode Greek set also does not provide “double” Ϊ or Ϋ.¹

Roundtrip conversion is a constant issue in Greek; it applies throughout this discussion.

Initial accented letters

The easiest way to understand case conversion complications in Greek is to think of accented letters having three cases, instead of two:

- lowercase accented leters, where the accented letter and its neighbours are also lowercase;
- initial-case accented letters, where the letter with an accent is a capital but its neighbours are lowercase; and
- uppercase, where only the dieresis is visible, and the accented letter and its neighbours are all capitals.

Here is an example:

Έλα Άννα! Ήρθε η ώρα. 
Ύστερα θα είναι αργά.
Όταν πάμε σπίτι θα καλέσουμε την Ήρα.

These sentences should convert to:

ΕΛΑ ΑΝΝΑ! ΗΡΘΕ Η ΩΡΑ. ΥΣΤΕΡΑ ΘΑ ΕΙΝΑΙ ΑΡΓΑ.
ΟΤΑΝ ΠΑΜΕ ΣΠΙΤΙ ΘΑ ΚΑΛΕΣΟΥΜΕ ΤΗΝ ΗΡΑ.

Note that all the accents in initial capitals disappear. This is the correct behaviour; any deviation is wrong. So, for example, the Foursquare Greek maps and the Wordpress comment form below are wrong:

(This behaviour is not limited to these platforms; it generally happens when a CSS style capitalises text strings that have been keyed in as twin-case.)

Let’s modify our example to include a dieresis:

Έλα Άννα! Ήρθε η ώρα. 
Ύστερα θα φύγει το καΐκι.

Όταν πάμε σπίτι θα χορέψουμε ζεϊμπέκικο.

These sentences should convert to:

ΕΛΑ ΑΝΝΑ! ΗΡΘΕ Η ΩΡΑ. ΥΣΤΕΡΑ ΘΑ ΦΥΓΕΙ ΤΟ ΚΑΪΚΙ.
ΟΤΑΝ ΠΑΜΕ ΣΠΙΤΙ ΘΑ ΧΟΡΕΨΟΥΜΕ ΖΕΪΜΠΕΚΙΚΟ.

Note that the dieresis survives the conversion, as it should. But keep in mind that the highlighted letters are not like the rest of the capitals, since they must ‘gain’ an accent when converted back to lowercase:

ΕΛΑ ΑΝΝΑ! ΗΡΘΕ Η ΩΡΑ. ΥΣΤΕΡΑ ΘΑ ΦΥΓΕΙ ΤΟ ΚΑΪΚΙ.
ΟΤΑΝ ΠΑΜΕ ΣΠΙΤΙ ΘΑ ΧΟΡΕΨΟΥΜΕ ΖΕΪΜΠΕΚΙΚΟ.

It is possible to come up with simple rules to predict that behaviour, for example:

[space]+Ά/Έ/Ή/Ί/Ύ/Ό/Ώ+[class with all lowercase letters]
convert to:
[space]+Α/Ε/Η/Ι/Υ/Ο/Ω+[uppercase letters]

but the roundtrip is not so straightforward. For this to happen, the capitals that the accented initials convert to must be different than the ‘plain vanilla’ ones. In other words, the font must include multiple instances of unaccented capitals, addressed through OpenType features. (Using CIDs in this case means that the words will never degrade gracefully in an environment that does not read the feature: either they will lose the accent, or convert to a lowercase form amongst uppercase ones.).

Dipthongs and double vowels

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In 1998 –even in 2000, when the second edit took place – the state of Greek fonts internationally was very different that nearly fifteen years later. Only Adobe had made significant original contributions, and designers were just beginning to be interested in the challenges of Greek typeface design. It is worth keeping these points in mind when reading the text.]

At the 1997 ATypI Conference at Reading I gave a talk with the title ‘Typography & the Greek language: designing typefaces in a cultural context.’ The inspiration for that talk was a discussion with Christopher Burke on designing typefaces for a script one is not linguistically familiar with. My position was that knowledge and use of a language is not a prerequisite for understanding the script to a very high, if not conclusive, degree. In other words, although a ‘typographically attuned’ native user should test a design in real circumstances, any designer could, with the right preparation and monitoring, produce competent typefaces. This position was based on my understanding of the decisions a designer must make in designing a Greek typeface. I should add that this argument had two weak points: one, it was based on a limited amount of personal experience in type design and intuition, rather than research; and, two, it was quite possible that, as a Greek, I was making the ‘right’ choices by default. Since 1997, my own work proved me right on the first point, and that of other designers – both Greeks and non-Greeks – on the second.

The last few years saw multilingual typography literally explode. An obvious arena was the broader European region: the Amsterdam Treaty of 1997 which, at the same time as bringing the European Union closer to integration on a number of fields, marked a heightening of awareness in cultural characteristics, down to an explicit statement of support for dialects and local script variations. Furthermore, the assignment of candidate-for-entry status to several countries in central and eastern Europe, and the tightening of relationships with a other countries in the region, foregrounded not only the requirements of the extended Latin script, but the different flavours of the Cyrillic script in use within the broader European area. In this context, the Greek script is a relatively minor, if indispensable, player. However, in a reflection of its history in the last five centuries, there is a huge interest for Greek typography from outside the boundaries of the Greek State. There are considerable Hellenic communities in Europe, North America and Australia; a significant number of academics working on ancient, Byzantine, and modern Greek; and an important worldwide market for bilingual ecclesiastical texts.

[1] Typeface by the Spaniard Arnaldo Guillen de Brocar. This is one of the three main strands of early Greek type styles. Despite its simplicity and clarity, it fell victim to the commercial success of the Aldine model.

[2] Typeface by Demetrios
Damilas. This strand of early Greek type styles, in some ways a stylistic precursor to de Brocar’s, combined regularity with fluidity without indulging in over-complexity.

Despite sizable gaps in published research, the development of the Greek typographic script up to the twentieth century is well established, at least for the non-historian. The twentieth century, on the other hand, is not as well documented, and even less researched – a regrettable fact, since it is a far more volatile and interesting period for Greek typography. Here, I will very briefly go over a few key contributions to Greek type design up to the end of the nineteenth century, before expanding on more recent developments.

Greek letterforms up to the fifteenth century, in three points

• Varied, but clearly related, inscriptional and scribal strands of development are established, spanning all the way from pre-classical times through Hellenistic years and the ascendancy of Orthodox Byzantium. Inscriptional letters were not cut at the larger sizes common in Imperial Rome; the development of Byzantine hagiographical and secular lettering did not follow the logic of the brush-stroke construction as outlined by Catich in his Origin of the Serif.

• An uncial hand developed for writing on softer materials, which branched into official and vernacular varieties, the latter with a strong cursive character. Such hands were increasingly adopted by the mercantile classes, secular writers, and non-patristic ecclesiastical writers. Letters from older hands were used for versals and titles.

• After the Sack of Constantinople in 1204 by the fourth Crusade, the western, largely Venetian, occupation of many lands, particularly Crete and Cyprus, facilitated the migration of Greek scribes to the Italian peninsula. This movement turned into a flood after the Fall of Constantinople in 1453 to the Ottoman Turks. It was the cursive hand that these scribes brought to the West, and put to use as tutors, editors, and printers.

The first Greek typefaces

The first printers to cast Greek type used the hands of Italian Humanists as models. Typefaces of this group tend to have upright letterforms, with nearly circular counters, and monoline strokes with occasionally bulging or tapering terminals. There are few ligatures, and letterforms are positioned within a clearly defined vertical band – in other words, there is minimal kerning. Although some letterforms were consistently troublesome for western punch-cutters, texts are easily readable and the texture of the page is generally even. This style reached its zenith in the typeface by the Spaniard Arnaldo Guillen de Brocar, [1] famously used in the Complutensian Polyglot Bible.

Scribal models for Greek typefaces were not as established as for Latin ones, where the varieties of blackletter were dominant in patristic and ecclesiastical texts, and the early Humanists’ version of littera antiqua in classical texts and treatises. Despite the considerable involvement of non-Greek scholars in – mostly Venetian and Florentine – publishing enterprises, the refugee scribes and scholars had significant authorial and editorial presence, even when they did not assume the role of publisher or printer. It is not difficult to imagine that their manuscripts would be seen as fitting models for the cutting of new typefaces.

This first style of types modelled on the hands of the Greek refugees is exemplified by the type of Demetrios Damilas, which appeared in 1476. [2] Each letterform is clearly differentiated, although there are more ligatures and abbreviations. Some regularity and circularity has been traded for a closer correspondence to the variety and vigour of energetic handwriting. One could say that these types mirror the scribe’s familiarity with the letterforms. The strong distinction between minuscules for text and capitals for versals or titles must have made it easier for printers to use capitals from different typefaces, not to mention borrowing what could be used from a Latin fount. The very different character of lower-case and capitals is evident in Greek typefaces to this day.

[3] The hand of the Greek scribe Immanuel Rhusotas, which Aldus used as a model for Griffo to cut his Greek types. The fluidity is characteristic of a proficient scribe’s hand.

[4] First Greek typeface by Aldus Manutius. The decision to provide a sufficient number of ligatures, contractions and abbreviations to replicate the texture of the handwritten text would burden the Greek typographic script with undesirable complexity for centuries.

The turning point for Greek types is 1495, the year Aldus Manutius published his first Greek text. Technical considerations aside, Aldus’ importance lies in his choice to follow the hand of the Greek scribe Immanuel Rhusotas [3] in all its complexity. This necessitated a huge number of contractions, ligatures, and alternate sorts. [4] His three subsequent typefaces were essentially attempts to simplify the design and eliminate ligatures and contractions. Unfortunately, and to the regret of generations of compositors, it would take a couple of centuries for punchcutters of Greek to take serious steps in turning a scribal script into a typographical one suitable for typesetting by hand.¹

The typefaces that mirrored the handwriting style of contemporary scholars must have contributed to the commercial success of Aldine editions as much as their novel format, and Aldus’ drive to publish Aristotle’s works. The result was that the style became the accepted face of printed Greek erudition, and imitated widely, in complexity comparable to the originals. We should note that the prominence of the Aldine style eclipsed other alternatives, most notably the practically contemporary types of Zacharias Kalliergis. [5] This typeface has wider spacing, more open counters, and curved strokes that develop without crowding or closing in on themselves. Altogether more space is allowed for the elaboration of strokes – and, despite being based on a scribal hand, there are concessions to typographical necessity. Kalliergis’ typeface influenced some later designs, but its legacy was not lasting; a regrettable development by any measure.

[5] Typeface of Zacharias Kalliergis. Another victim of Aldus’ business acumen, this was probably the most promising of all the strands of early Greek type: It is fluid but uncomplicated, elegant yet susceptible to regularisation.

In the 1540s Claude Garamond cut a Greek typeface [6a & 6b] in three sizes drawing on the Aldine spirit, but this time based on the hand of another Greek scribe, Angelos Vergikios. The types are more open and upright, and strokes flow easily into one another. One could say that the smoothness of the curves and the transitions from one letter to the next bring to mind the shift in the French interpretations of Griffo’s italics. To the compositors’ continuing despair, the founts were equipped with hundreds of ligatures and contractions. Garamond’s typefaces was an immediate and long-lasting success: printers hastened to secure copies or close approximations, and the style dominated Greek typefaces well into the 18th century.

[6a] The writing of the scribe Angelos Vergikios. Despite its elegance, this hand has all the marks of a script that is unsuitable for conversion to a typographic alphabet.

For the two centuries after Garamond the main development was the inevitable abolishment of most of the ligatures and contractions. The issue was not simply one of just not using the extra sorts; if a punch-cutter had intended a typeface with, for example, a double gamma ligature, the possibility of two single gamma sorts side-by-side would not have been anticipated.

[7a] Alexander Wilson’s Greek typeface for the Foulis Press.

[7b] Wilson’s typeface digitised by Matthew Carter (from a 1995 specimen).

If we take into account the extent to which typefaces relied on ligatures and alternate sorts, simply omitting these features would amputate the design. It was not until 1756 that Alexander Wilson cut a successful typeface that followed the established models while doing away with all but the most basic ligatures and contractions. [7a & 7b] The new trend did not catch on as easily as compositors might have hoped, but eventually Greek typefaces were liberated from the more complex scribal remnants.

The eighteenth century saw printers like Baskerville and Bodoni transplanting elements from the writing masters’ style and the Modern types to their Greeks, with, on the whole, unfortunate results. ² An inclined variety with some distinct traces of Bodoni’s style was developed by German printers for textbooks of Greek authors; the style survives to this day.

However, one of the most important figures from the early 19th century was the French Ambroise Firmin Didot, a fervent philhellene and supporter of the early attempts to establish printing on Greek soil (Didot trained a Greek printer and donated one of the first presses to operate on liberated Greek soil). His types, which dominated Italy as well as, eventually, the lands of the emerging Greek State, are a distant descendants of the grecs-du-roi, but have evolved a consistent style of their own. [8] The upright stance and relative thickness of the strokes impart solidity, while the ductal character conveys liveliness and speed. Eventually, the Didot style would prove more resilient than the Bodoni-clones, providing the basis for what became the most widely used typeface this century within Greece.

[8] A Greek by Didot, dating from 1790. Note the two forms of tau: the ascending one survives only in scribal forms today. Later interpretations of the style would tighten the curves and eliminate some of the mannerisms (like the flick at the bottom of the rho, and the overly pointed delta).

[9] Richard Porson’s typeface, based on the hand of the Hellenist Richard Porson. Note the tear-drop terminals of vertical strokes, the lunate epsilon, the ‘headless’ lambda, and the concave perispomeni.

A completely different strand was initiated by the Cambridge Hellenist Richard Porson who designed a typeface based on his own handwriting, cut by Richard Austin in 1806 [9] The design was a radical departure from contemporary styles: the curves are simplified and the structure and alignment of characters more regularised. The modulation of the strokes is more consistent, and there are some new interpretations, like the lunate epsilon (present in several manuscripts, most commonly as part of ligatures), the kappa pler perispomeni. The terminals are varied: some taper, some end in drop-like bulbs, and some are sheared. The design is somewhat inconsistent in the balancing of white regions, both in closed counters and around open characters like the lambda. Appropriately for this style, there were no ligatures or contractions. Porson’s design showed the way forward for the next generation of Greek typefaces, re-stating the case for abandoning the grecs-du-roi influence and regularising the strokes of letterforms. It was widely copied (and modified) and still enjoys considerable success, albeit within Greece only for shorter runs of text.and the simpler perispomeni. The terminals are varied: some taper, some end in drop-like bulbs, and some are sheared. The design is somewhat inconsistent in the balancing of white regions, both in closed counters and around open characters like the lambda. Appropriately for this style, there were no ligatures or contractions. Porson’s design showed the way forward for the next generation of Greek typefaces, re-stating the case for abandoning the grecs-du-roi influence and regularising the strokes of letterforms. It was widely copied (and modified) and still enjoys considerable success, albeit within Greece only for shorter runs of text.

The twentieth century

Although typefoundries existed since the very first years of the modern Greek state, the turn of the century saw Greece importing most of its printing equipment, as well as essentially all the models for text typefaces, from Europe. We can identify two main strands, an upright style drawing on Didot’s Greeks, and an inclined style with direct references to German typefounders. Notwithstanding the vicissitudes of typographic fashion, upright and inclined typefaces were considered equal for text material.

From around 1910 onwards, Lanston Monotype and Mergenthaler Linotype began to make Greek typefaces available for machine composition. The involvement of these companies was instrumental in clarifying character sets, especially in relation to alternate forms (primarily the alpha, beta, epsilon, theta, kappa, pi, rho, and phi). Another, more elementary, influence of Monotype and Linotype was the complete redefinition of the relationship between primary and secondary typefaces: until that point, Greek typesetters used spacing between letters to signify emphasis in a text. Less frequently, an alternate typeface might be used. Monotype and Linotype shifted inclined Greeks towards a role equivalent to italics in Latin typography, a decision that must have been driven by marketing as much as technical reasons. Both adopted the Didot style for their uprights; and Monotype’s Series 90 became the definitive text typeface of the twentieth century. Numerous – and hugely varied in quality – digital versions are still very popular for literature, while some lower-run or luxurious editions are typeset with the hot-metal versions. An inclined typeface with clear German roots and few exact design correlations with the Didot style, which until that time was a text typeface in its own right, became the Series 91, the designated secondary italic.

Although types were cut in Greece throughout the period of mechanical typesetting, any original designs were limited to display typefaces; very few typefaces used for text did not conform to either of the Didot or the [German] inclined paradigm. One common characteristic of hand-setting type specimens from the early part of the century and the surviving specimens from pre-digital phototypesetters is the very narrow selection of text typefaces, and the relative profusion of display designs. Perhaps not surprisingly, few of the latter have survived the test of time.

[10] Monotype’s Series 90 and 91 Greeks. The surviving names for the two styles are indicative: the Didot style is still called aplá, which means ‘simple’ (but also, in Greek vernacular, ‘default’) and the cursive variation of the inclined types was until the early 1990s called Lipsías, which means ‘from Leipzig.’

[11] Victor Scholderer’s New Hellenic in Monotype’s digital version, with the scribal form of Omega. Below it, a local version of questionable pedigree. Note the xi, final sigma, Theta, and Psi.

In 1927 Victor Scholderer designed the New Hellenic for Monotype. [11] With some modifications, this has enjoyed moderate success outside Greece, and rather more within, where it has also had the honourable role of a variation having been used in primary school first readers for nearly three decades.

In the years up to the Second World War, most attempts at new Greek typefaces by non-Greeks – admittedly not numerous, but some by highly credited designers like Eric Gill and Jan van Krimpen – were (mis)conceived and failed to even dent the hegemony of the Didot style. However, this did not open up the road to Greek designers: although Greek printers relied heavily on foundry type which was generally produced locally, any originality in domestic production continued to be limited to display types.

The fifties changed all that. Greece was becoming an industrialized country with a rapidly expanding urban population, so it’s no surprise to see new designs for the emerging middle class markets. The Gill Sans family [12] designed by the Monotype drawing office was widely imitated, and, together with a small number of other sans serifs, provided the workhorses of the periodical press and advertising of the time.

[12] Monotype’s digital Gill Sans (upper pair) is seriously compromised by the alpha, gamma, zeta, lamda, mu, tau, chi, psi, and sigma. The pirated version (one of many) improves somewhat on the alpha, zeta, and final sigma, but is wide off the mark in its beta, gamma, theta, lambda, tau, phi, and chi. most of which are plainly wrong. Note also the Xi, with the vertical joining stroke. Different forms are juxtaposed below.

13a] Different versions of Times Greek with associated italics. Some italic fonts are little more than slanted, compressed versions of the uprights. The alternate forms of letters (e.g. the alpha, gamma, kappa, upsilon, phi, psi) suggest one possible route for differentiating effectively between the primary and secondary fonts.

[13b] Different alphas from successive versions of Times Greek typefaces. The alpha is the most common letter in Greek texts, and the size and shape of its counter will have a profound effect on the texture of typeset text. Ironing out the corner in the counter of the alpha precipitated a straightening of the right half of the typeform into a single vertical stroke; together these constitute one of the most unfortunate developments in Greek type design.

The other major family of the fifties was Times Greek. [13a & 13b] Capitals excepted, the Greek versions share little with the Latin ones. Regardless, the ubiquity of Times Greek (in all its guises) in the last thirty-odd years, both within and outside Greece, is undeniable, if far from deserving. We must keep in mind that Latin typefaces of the time were very much influenced by the regularising approach of the period. However, this approach was primarily implemented in new designs or interpretations of fin-du-siécle sans serifs. It is questionable whether the Times family was a good choice for such treatment. Applying a 1950s approach to the style of a 1930s typeface (with sixteenth century roots) was inauspicious for Times Greek. The homogenised counters and normalised typeform widths with add-on scribal flourishes and terminals leave a lot to be desired, and the unresolved stress angles and compressed or extended counters testify to a program that failed to adapt conclusively the Latin original’s characteristics to the Greek.

[15] Some badly designed Greek ‘Bodonis’.

The early seventies saw the arrival of the Greek Optima, which was to carve its own niche in Greek magazine publishing, and, more importantly, one of the most influential designs of the post-junta period: the Greek Helvetica. [14] This was one of the first new Greek typeface designed directly for phototypesetting; on the whole, the few available phototypes had been re-issues of hot-metal designs. Helvetica went hand-in-hand with the new style in magazine and advertising, if with a few years’ delay from the rest of Europe. Through mainly the periodical press, Helvetica became part and parcel of the new, ‘cleaner,’ European aesthetic promoted to urban readers from that time onwards well into the next decade. It is clear that the designer was asked to produce typefaces that ‘looked like the [western] Latin ones,’ and understandable request in the political and cultural context of early 1970s Greece. However, the serifed typefaces of the group developed at the time (Baskerville, Century Schoolbook, and Souvenir) revealed problems with this approach that trouble Greek typefaces to this day.

[14] Common Helvetica and Optima versions. The bottom example of Optima is particularly poor.

All in all, however, the seventies were not years of typographical revolution in Greece. To this contributed not only the political turmoil of the junta of 1967–74 and the subsequent drive to rebuild democracy, but, perhaps more importantly, the fact that many publishing projects were adequately covered by existing technology. Although many magazines adopted offset technology, by far the most book publishers continued to use hot-metal printing. As the book market was characterized by a large number of small publishers producing modest print runs, printers had little to gain by investing in the new technology. In that light, the lack of available typefaces was not seen as severely limiting. All this was to change in the early eighties.

[16] Greek glyphs from Adobe’s MyriadPro, MinionPro, and WarnockPro OpenType fonts.

In 1981 Greece became a full member of the EEC. The international boom of the decade coincided with the coming-of-age of the urban middle classes, who now were affluent enough to afford, but not mature enough to refuse, the extrovert consumerism of American culture. The combination of phototypesetting maturing to digital formats, and the adoption of the monotonic system for Modern Greek in early 1982, which allowed professional typesetters to be replaced by keyboard operators, drove an increasing transfer of hot-metal and early phototypes to digital phototypesetting. As with Latin typefaces, as often as not such transfers produced inferior results on the printed page. This tendency to transfer existing designs into digital formats took on a new angle from the mid-eighties, with dramatic consequences. The gradual adoption of 8-bit Greek fonts with character sets based on ISO 8859–7, Win 1253, or Mac/OS Greek (by far the worse of the three) was the single most important factor in encouraging font piracy by local designers. A general disregard for international legal standards and accepted practice did not help, as did not a typical of the period desire to make a quick profit. The literal explosion of the periodical and promotional fields fuelled this phenomenon even further. Greece filled with service bureaus where attention to detail in typesetting and quality in print production were sacrificed to turnover rates and low costs. These companies supported and recycled the graduates of numerous new graphic design schools where depth in design education was rarely, if ever, achieved.

The last decade saw an improvement in some areas. Many designers moved on to multimedia and web design where it is seems easier to justify a pay check to reluctant clients. Thankfully some – a few – clients have begun to recognize the effort invested in a typeface design, and are willing to seek work of a higher quality. There also seem to be some schools that attach more emphasis to quality in design education, although how many of those subscribe to Hyphen remains to be seen. At the same time, many typefaces in circulation are in breach of copyright or design patents. The result of all the above is that many new Greek typefaces by Greek designers betray a lack of understanding of fundamental aspects of Greek typography, the basic shape of Greek typeforms, and good typesetting. The last few years have witnessed an overwhelming proliferation of designs, ranging from the ever-present hacking of Latin typefaces to a few serious efforts. [15] The Greek market is in the process of discovering the made-to-order typeface, advertisers are beginning to realize the potential of an eye-catching design, and, as is usual in similar circumstances, several people have become instant experts. Designers who trained – as opposed to ‘were educated in design’ – from the last years of the eighties onwards enjoy a more open communication with activities in Europe and the United States, and are now a significant part of the professionally active design community. However, for every original typeface design there is still a hacker trying to make some easy money.

In the meantime, a number of expanded character sets have been developed to address the demand for multilingual and multi-script support. Microsoft was the first significant source of such a set (with WGL4), but from a design perspective are not exceptional; Adobe’s later OpenType fonts are much more notable, [16] and include one extensive polytonic typeface which will hopefully dent the ubiquity of the several versions of Times Greek used by classicists worldwide. As expected, the type designers employed by such companies in most cases cannot read Greek, and may have a very patchy – if any – knowledge of the relevant Greek history. The problem therefore facing any designer, Greek and non-Greek, is whether a new design respects the script’s history and design characteristics, while developing the typographic morphology consistently and with originality.

Conclusion

It is an irony of history that while so many people were studying classical Greek, the Greek people were either under foreign occupation, or struggling to mature as a state and a nation. Partly because of this, many Greeks developed an all-too-easy rejection of foreign intervention or example; and many foreign affairs that affected Greece negatively were condemned as if political expediencies were tinged with anti-Hellenic bias. Greeks have often accused non-Greeks of corrupting our cultural inheritance, just as foreigners have accused Greeks of negligence in caring for that inheritance. The truth, as usual, lies somewhere in between. Typeface design has not escaped this attitude, which was aided by the overwhelming dominance of the typesetting equipment market by international companies. Despite protestations that it is very difficult, if not impossible, for a non-Greek to capture the ‘essence’ of Greek typeforms, the fact remains that, until a few years ago, it was mostly non-Greeks who designed and produced Greek typefaces. With hindsight, and in light of recent work, we would have to concede that they did a decent job.

Writing in a different context, Richard Clogg wrote in his Concise history of modern Greece that: ‘… “Greekness” is something that a person is born with and can no more easily be lost than it can be acquired by those of not Greek ancestry’. Clogg makes a case for language not being the defining criterion; my experience of non-Greek type designers seems to support that, at least to a considerable degree in the design process. Good typefaces are created through a combination of a knowledge of the traditional forms of the script, and an immersion in dialogue with existing designs, whatever format this interface may take. I would like to think that a well-informed designer with a talent for identifying formal consistencies and distinctions in unfamiliar typeforms can go a long way in substituting intuition in typographic design, without worrying too much about her or his lack or misunderstanding of ‘Greekness.’

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Manuscripts and writing

Books with manuscripts and images of rare books might be good; there are some truly comprehensive editions of Greek manuscripts (like Greek literary hands by C H Roberts, in two volumes, and Repertorium der griechishen Kopisten, in three volumes. It is important to get a feeling for Greek writing, as it is (and was) done on entirely different models than western writing. In short, the the arm rotates freely, and the nibs (when not round) are cut with an opposite bias. If the titles above are not available, look up sources on Byzantine scribes. (But note: if you do general searches online, you must focus on secular or less formal documents, rather than the very ornate manuscripts of the Empire.)

As with all unfamiliar scripts, doing some writing exercises is essential to understand the entry and exit strokes, and the structure of the letterforms. I have included two sheets for practice in a zipped archive; use a pencil or other “direction-agnostic” tool when starting with writing exercises.

Typographic history

Victor Scholderer’s Greek printing types 1465–1927 catalogue is a good historical introduction. It stops in 1927, and has a specific bias. Scholderer outlines helpfully the three early strands of Greek typeface “design”: the upright joined style of Zacharias Kalliergis, the eventually dominant Aldine style, and the short-lived Complutensian. (I put “design” in quotes since “typemaking” would be more appropriate term. Our current interpretation of “design” implies a level of deliberation an reflection that did not apply at the time.) There is a somewhat rare original (500 copies only, grab one if you find it on sale) and a reprint from 2004 or so, with new essays by John Bowman and Martin Davies added. (Oak Knoll sells it in the US, and independent booksellers elsewhere.) The original has some exceptional reproductions in collotype, worth the price of purchase alone.

If you read this you can safely skip Robert Proctor’s The printing of Greek in the fifteenth century (1900), the other key text for early Greek printing, which is also more limited in coverage. (If interested, you can get a free PDF of Proctor’s book.)

H. D. L. Vervliet had published significant texts on the history of Greek typefaces. The Journal of the Printing Historical Society has two relevant articles: “Greek printing types of the French Renaissance: the ‘grecs du roy’ and their successors” (in new series no 2, 2000) and “The Greek typefaces of the early French Renaissance” (in New Series no 4, 2002).

John Bowman’s Greek printing types in Britain: from the late eighteenth to the early twentieth century is based on his PhD (Reading, 1988). It is interesting in its totality, but has an invaluable second chapter where forms from different typefaces are compared. It is published by Typofilia, and should be available to order via independent booksellers.

Michael Macrakis’s Greek Letters: from tablets to pixels has some articles that are very useful, and a few that are not very helpful, or under-researched. Some are out of date. But John Bowman and John Lane’s are essential reading.

I wrote an article in Language, Culture, Type (ed. John D Berry, ATypI/Graphis 2002) with some basic ideas on the development of Greek typeface design. Also, I posted a couple of short texts on Typophile, one in a thread on Garamond Premier Pro encapsulating the history of Greek typefaces, and one on Greek scripts that comments on the model that designers need to have in mind.

There are also some useful comments on parallel script development in the booklet produced by Microsoft to document the development of the ClearType typefaces, Now read this (2003). According to a recent Typophile thread, it may eventually be available as a PDF. Regardless, the typefaces are relatively easy to view, since they are available with Microsoft Office.

Typefaces to study

In addition to the historical examples illustrated in the publications above, it is worth studying good examples. My list below is not exhaustive, and is only focused on text-intensive typefaces.

- Start with the Didot Greeks, which defined the contemporary modulated-stroke style; and

- the Monotype hot metal monoline / low contrast Greeks, which were models for Greek adaptations of Latin sans serifs

I omit on purpose the first batch of phototypesetting Greek typefaces, which were intentionally ‘Latinised’. Contemporary digital typefaces to look at:

- the ClearType family: the Greeks in all are good enough, but Gary Munch’s Candara is a superb example of fresh thinking.

- Robert Slimbach’s modulated Greeks: Garamond Premiere Pro offers a re-interpretation of a historical standard; Arno Pro, a versatile update of a calligraphy-inspired family, and the relatively new Adobe Text Pro (which always makes me think “This is what Times Greek should look like!”).

- Jeremy Tankard’s Greek typefaces: his Bliss Pro (as well as the CT Corbel) are exemplary low-modulation Greeks.

- František Štorm’s Anselm Sans Pro and Anselm Serif Pro show a successful adaptation of Greek to a very eclectic style.

- Peter Bilak’s Fedra Greeks (the family is massive, and in the serif styles I strongly prefer Serif B over A). The extensive weights and styles of Fedra have made it extremely popular within Greece in recent years, mostly in newspapers and magazines.

- Hoefler & Frere-Jones’ Whitney Greek, a very good example of a Greek extension to a successful Latin family

Last but not least, John Hudson’s SBL Greek is probably the best updating of the traditional Didot style, with a twist. It has a massive character set, but unfortunately only one weight. It is a free download from the SBL site.

There have been some very good custom jobs, like the Vodafone Greek corporate typeface done a few years back by DaltonMaag (unfortunately the site does not show the Greek portion of the job) and the localised Cheltenham for the Greek edition of the New York Times (not easily seen online, if you don’t know Greek). Others are similarly difficult to see.

Student typefaces

Some very good Greek typefaces have been designed by students at the MATD. Here’s a small selection:

- Ben Jones’ Emrys (2011), an interpretation of a low-contrast style with an incised feel.

- Toshi Omagari’s Marco (2011), a contemporary modulated style.

- Riccardo De Franceschi’s Ginnasio (2010), a typeface for reference editions.

- Alice Savoie’s Capucine (2007), a novel style reminiscent of a modulated brush stroke. The typeface is now published commercially by Process Type Foundry.

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Here’s one grouping:

αδορσυωφβθ  ες  ηιμ  γνχλ  ζξ  κ  πτ  ψ (and φ long) ¹

A good basic set to begin with is alpha / epsilon / eta / iota / mu / rho (α, ε, η, ι, μ, ρ). This subset which give a structure to the main counters, and some form to instrokes and outstrokes, while avoiding the difficulties of letterforms with fewer repeated characteristics.

This sequence will also allow many typical test words, such as:
ηρεμία ερημιά ρήμα μέρα ρέμα μαρία είμαι αίμα ημέρα ήρεμα άρμη ρήμα

Always start designing a typeface with the lower-case: this is what people read, after all.

(Capitals section on its way)

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There are two text blocks, both unaccented. Each block is arranged with the vowel combinations first, the consonant combinations next: αεηιυοω then βγδζθκλμνξπρστφχψς. (The vowel combinations are nearly two fifths of the combinations, so affect the texture overwhelmingly.)

Block A1 arranges its words with the key letter first in the occurring pair (so the pairs go αα αβ αγ and so on). Block A2 has the key letter second (αα βα γα and so on).  Words in brackets represent rare combinations. The full stops indicate the end of each key letter sub-set. You can choose to remove them.

How to use the test documents

Look at the overall paragraph. In a good typeface the texture and colour should be even throughout the lines. If a line appears wide (or narrow, or uneven…) then look along to see which letter is dominant in the line: that letter needs redesigning, or re-spacing.

To help with spacing in particular, look for the consistency of space on the right of the key letter in block A1, and to the left in block A2. If the problem persists for several words, then it is a spacing issue; if it is limited to one or a few words, then it is a kerning issue.

These versions: 7.0

A1. Unaccented version, key letter first in pair

νηπιαας καραβι σαγανακι καιαδας αερας ναζια μαης ψαθα κεραια φακα σαλατα σαματας μανουλα αταξια αορτη καπα παραθυρο αφασια καταρριπτω αυτια ραφια μαχαλας καψαλιζω φαω πας. αθεατη ανεβα σεγα μεδουλι λεει τεζαρε δεηση πεθαμενος ρειακι καρεκλα σελα δεμα αναμενα εβρεξα θεος λεπτο τερας μπεσα πετουμενο πευκο κεφαλι εβρεχα κλεψια λεω θες. πιθηαι ηβη πηγαδι αηδια ηειδε πηζω ληθη καθεστυκηια σηκωνω ψηλα σημαδι μηνας ηξερα Οδυσσηος σηπεται χηρα εζησα θητα απηυθυνα ηφαιστειο αηχος σηψη τεθνηωτος ζωης. αδιαβαστος λιβας σιγα παιδακι σειεται ριζα πνοιης ειθε Σμυρναιικο προικα μιλα αιμα ειναι μιξα αγριος πιπα χαιρομαι καθισα επαιτης διυλιση σιφωνι σιχαινομαι διψα λιωμα ελπις. μυαλο κουβας αυγο αναυδος μυελος ουζο ευηχος αυθα υιος μπουκαλι παυλα τραυμα μαουνα συξυλος λουομενος τρυπα αυρα καθυστερηση αυτια κουφαλα ευχη υψηλος λυω ναυς. στοα κοβω λογος οδος ροες ροζος βοηθεια ποθος κοιλια προκα χολη ρομπα μοναχος οξεια κλοουν ροπτρο πορτα οστια ποτο ρουχο λοφος οχια κοψιμο προωθηση πραος. ζωα ιωβηλαιος διωγμος ωδη ζωες εσωζε ζωη ωθηση ωιμε εσωκλειστο κωλυμα λιωμα αμβωνας βωξιτης ζωον αναζωπυρωση τωρα εσωσα ρωταω ζωυφιο κωφος μολωχ μυωψ ζωων πως. αβαρια αββας εβγαλε βδελα μανιβελα βζ βλαβη βιδα ταβλα σβουρα αβρος [αβστρο-ουγκαρια] βυτιο ραβω. αγαπη αγγαρια εγδυσε αγερας σαγηνη σκαγια αγκαλια γλαφυρος σιγμα αγνοω ελεγξα αγορι αγρος [Αγτζιδης] γυρω αγχωδης αγωνας. αδαης σαδδουκαιος αδεια αδημονω παιδι [Καδμος] αφιδναι ειδοποιηση αμυδρος δυαδικος εδω. τεζα ζβ μαζευω εζησα ναζια ζλοτι αζναβουρ αζορες εζρα αζτεκος [Ζτριβας] ζυμωνω ζωα. καθαρος αθεατος ανθησε καλαθια καθκαρτ αθλητης ασθμαινω θνητος θολουρα θροισμα θυμιατο αθωος. ακακος εκβαση εκδικαση ακεφαλος εκζεμα κηπος εκθεση χαλακια εκκλησια εκλαψε ακμη οκνηρος ακοη εκπληρωση εκρηξη εκτακτο κυοφορια εκφραση σακχαρο εκων [Σακς.] λαος χαλβας αλγος αλδινο πλειαδα [Ελζα] αληθεια ελθει σαλια αλκαλικο αλλα αλμυρα χαλνω ελξη αλογο ελπιδα ελροι αλσος ψαλτης αλυσιδα αλφα καλχας αλωβητος βαλς. αμαθεια αμβωνας εμδεν εμμενω αμηχανος λαμια σιμκα [Τομκος] καμλα βαμμα αμνηστια αμολυβδη ρομπα αμριτσαρ κομσομολ καμτσικι αμυδρα εμφανης καμχης λαμψη αμωμος ειμπραμς. ανανας ανβαρ ενδεια ανεχεια ανζου ανησυχος ενθυμιο ανια κονκαρδα καραμανλης μαννα εννοω μονροε πενσα αντλια νυχτα ανφας μανχαιμ ανωγι χανς. εξαπτερυγο αξεσουαρ εξηγηση αξια [αξλ] ξοανο εξπερ εξυσε εξωτερικο. απατη περιπου πηλικιο πιθαρι επκοτ απλος απνοια αποσταση καππα επραξε απτος πυον πφφ [Αμπχαζιος] απωτερο καπς. αραδα αρβυλα αργα γιαρδα παρεα ερζατς [Τερζης] κρητικος παρθιος ψαρια μαρκα αρλουμπα αρμενιζω αρνι ξερξης προτερο αρπαγη θαρρος αρση χαρτι δακρυα ερφουρτη αρχη τερψη ηρωας αρς. κασα ασβος σγουρος βασδεκης ασεβης ασημαντος ασθενης οσιος σκυφτος ασλανης χασμα σνομπ πασουμι ρασπα ασραμ θαλασσα μαστος ασυδοτος ασφαλεια εσχατος [Αλτσχαιμερ] [προσψαυτε] ασωτος. κατασταση ετβα καλλιτεχνικος ατζαμης εστησα κατθανε ματια ατλαντας ατμος πατουσα ατρακτος πιτσα θαλαττα στυφος κατωι κατς. φαγητο Αφγανισταν εφεξης αφηνιασμενος αφθονος μαφια καφκαλο καραφλα εξαφνα αφορμη αφρος φσιτ αφτια φυτικο φχαριστω φωταψιες παφς. χαρακας χειροτερος [Σεχζαντε] οχημα αχθοφορος αχινος αχλαδι αιχμηρο παχνη αχουρι [Σαχπασιδης] αχρειαστος οχτωηχος αχυρωνας αδιαχωρητο. καψαλιζω ψειρες αψηφω ταψια αψογος εμψυχος ψωρα.

A2. Unaccented version, key letter second in pair

νηπιαας καραβι σαγανακι καιαδας αερας ναζια μαης ψαθα κεραια φακα σαλατα σαματας μανουλα αταξια αορτη καπα παραθυρο αφασια καταρριπτω αυτια ραφια μαχαλας καψαλιζω φαω πας. αθεατη ανεβα σεγα μεδουλι λεει τεζαρε δεηση πεθαμενος ρειακι καρεκλα σελα δεμα αναμενα εβρεξα θεος λεπτο τερας μπεσα πετουμενο πευκο κεφαλι εβρεχα κλεψια λεω θες. πιθηαι ηβη πηγαδι αηδια ηειδε πηζω ληθη καθεστυκηια σηκωνω ψηλα σημαδι μηνας ηξερα Οδυσσηος σηπεται χηρα εζησα θητα απηυθυνα ηφαιστειο αηχος σηψη τεθνηωτος ζωης. αδιαβαστος λιβας σιγα παιδακι σειεται ριζα πνοιης ειθε Σμυρναιικο προικα μιλα αιμα ειναι μιξα αγριος πιπα χαιρομαι καθισα επαιτης διυλιση σιφωνι σιχαινομαι διψα λιωμα ελπις. μυαλο κουβας αυγο αναυδος μυελος ουζο ευηχος αυθα υιος μπουκαλι παυλα τραυμα μαουνα συξυλος λουομενος τρυπα αυρα καθυστερηση αυτια κουφαλα ευχη υψηλος λυω ναυς. στοα κοβω λογος οδος ροες ροζος βοηθεια ποθος κοιλια προκα χολη ρομπα μοναχος οξεια κλοουν ροπτρο πορτα οστια ποτο ρουχο λοφος οχια κοψιμο προωθηση πραος. ζωα ιωβηλαιος διωγμος ωδη ζωες εσωζε ζωη ωθηση ωιμε εσωκλειστο κωλυμα λιωμα αμβωνας βωξιτης ζωον αναζωπυρωση τωρα εσωσα ρωταω ζωυφιο κωφος μολωχ μυωψ ζωων πως. αβαρια αββας εβγαλε βδελα μανιβελα βζ βλαβη βιδα ταβλα σβουρα αβρος [αβστρο-ουγκαρια] βυτιο ραβω. αγαπη αγγαρια εγδυσε αγερας σαγηνη σκαγια αγκαλια γλαφυρος σιγμα αγνοω ελεγξα αγορι αγρος [Αγτζιδης] γυρω αγχωδης αγωνας. αδαης σαδδουκαιος αδεια αδημονω παιδι [Καδμος] αφιδναι ειδοποιηση αμυδρος δυαδικος εδω. τεζα ζβ μαζευω εζησα ναζια ζλοτι αζναβουρ αζορες εζρα αζτεκος [Ζτριβας] ζυμωνω ζωα. καθαρος αθεατος ανθησε καλαθια καθκαρτ αθλητης ασθμαινω θνητος θολουρα θροισμα θυμιατο αθωος. ακακος εκβαση εκδικαση ακεφαλος εκζεμα κηπος εκθεση χαλακια εκκλησια εκλαψε ακμη οκνηρος ακοη εκπληρωση εκρηξη εκτακτο κυοφορια εκφραση σακχαρο εκων [Σακς.] λαος χαλβας αλγος αλδινο πλειαδα [Ελζα] αληθεια ελθει σαλια αλκαλικο αλλα αλμυρα χαλνω ελξη αλογο ελπιδα ελροι αλσος ψαλτης αλυσιδα αλφα καλχας αλωβητος βαλς. αμαθεια αμβωνας εμδεν εμμενω αμηχανος λαμια σιμκα [Τομκος] καμλα βαμμα αμνηστια αμολυβδη ρομπα αμριτσαρ κομσομολ καμτσικι αμυδρα εμφανης καμχης λαμψη αμωμος ειμπραμς. ανανας ανβαρ ενδεια ανεχεια ανζου ανησυχος ενθυμιο ανια κονκαρδα καραμανλης μαννα εννοω μονροε πενσα αντλια νυχτα ανφας μανχαιμ ανωγι χανς. εξαπτερυγο αξεσουαρ εξηγηση αξια [αξλ] ξοανο εξπερ εξυσε εξωτερικο. απατη περιπου πηλικιο πιθαρι επκοτ απλος απνοια αποσταση καππα επραξε απτος πυον πφφ [Αμπχαζιος] απωτερο καπς. αραδα αρβυλα αργα γιαρδα παρεα ερζατς [Τερζης] κρητικος παρθιος ψαρια μαρκα αρλουμπα αρμενιζω αρνι ξερξης προτερο αρπαγη θαρρος αρση χαρτι δακρυα ερφουρτη αρχη τερψη ηρωας αρς. κασα ασβος σγουρος βασδεκης ασεβης ασημαντος ασθενης οσιος σκυφτος ασλανης χασμα σνομπ πασουμι ρασπα ασραμ θαλασσα μαστος ασυδοτος ασφαλεια εσχατος [Αλτσχαιμερ] [προσψαυτε] ασωτος. κατασταση ετβα καλλιτεχνικος ατζαμης εστησα κατθανε ματια ατλαντας ατμος πατουσα ατρακτος πιτσα θαλαττα στυφος κατωι κατς. φαγητο Αφγανισταν εφεξης αφηνιασμενος αφθονος μαφια καφκαλο καραφλα εξαφνα αφορμη αφρος φσιτ αφτια φυτικο φχαριστω φωταψιες παφς. χαρακας χειροτερος [Σεχζαντε] οχημα αχθοφορος αχινος αχλαδι αιχμηρο παχνη αχουρι [Σαχπασιδης] αχρειαστος οχτωηχος αχυρωνας αδιαχωρητο. καψαλιζω ψειρες αψηφω ταψια αψογος εμψυχος ψωρα.

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A single-page test text comprising all the two-letter combinations of Standard Modern Greek: common words are used as much as possible. Very useful for testing the typographic texture and colour, the spacing, and identifying kerning.

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