At this year's Taipei International Book Fair, which lasted for 6 days, I spent 4 days soaking it all in. I attended some talks, browsed countless stalls, but ended up buying just one book... And no, I'm not talking about my own book—I wouldn't dare to boast to that extent. The book I bought is a different gem, a thoughtful little book detailing the history of Johannes Gutenberg's invention of the printing press.
Although the Taipei Book Fair charges an entrance fee of TWD 150 every day, it has a fantastic arrangement. With each ticket purchase, you get a TWD 150 voucher, which can only be used on the day of purchase, nearly forcing readers to buy books at the fair and create an "internal circulation." Despite this, I really didn’t want to buy physical books, (probably not a thought I should promote insead of my new book), so I used the voucher to buy stationery and creative goods like pens and tape. Ironically, the only book I bought couldn’t be paid for with the voucher, as it was from ACO, a Hong Kong-based publisher, and the vouchers weren't applicable to foreign merchants.
Buying only one book at the entire fair, what happened to supporting creativity? Let me explain. First off, buying books doesn’t have to happen at a book fair; secondly, I actually bought 7 ebooks during the fair, including Albert Tam's 復仇女神的正義, Morris's 香江神探福邇，字摩斯 3：捲土重來, Jozev Lau's 跑攻籃球 中, Xerses's 魚眼
Publishing physical books while personally avoiding buying them isn't unique to me. Authors T and Q, who are of the same generation as I am (a polite way of saying we all struggle with presbyopia), shared similar sentiments. Both have hosted share sessions where, afterwards, publishers encourage readers to hold up their books for a group photo. Having not a single physical book myself, I've attended various sessions and, after encountering this awkward situation multiple times, I've learned to blend in as an obedient fan. During photo ops, I whip out my iPad "mimi," displaying the cover of an ebook to sneak through.
The standard procedure after group photos is the signing session. I, along with other fans, patiently wait for authors to sign the title page of the books. Even for authors I know personally, I dutifully queue up, avoiding any hint of "privilege." I believe this "proof of work" in lining up adds a ceremonial value to the signing, making it feel more meaningful. The only thing that sets me apart from other readers is that, instead of a physical book, I ask authors to sign the cover of my iPad. This so-called iPad cover, crafted from a repurposed Muji notebook cover, holds no value beyond recycling. Yet, after years of use and now adorned with the signatures of several authors, not only can I not bear to replace it, but I'm also compelled to repair its wear and plan to use it until it's time to retire it to my bookshelf.
My physical books, ebooks, and NFT books are all unique because of this.
Author Signatures Make a Book Unique
In recent years, I've tried to explain NFTs, with some getting it and many still confused, a clear sign that the issue lies not with the audience but with my ability to explain. The idea of connecting with an author, adding a signature and a message to a book to transform it from "one of many" to "the only one," is a concept all book lovers understand and naturally desire. Fans travel great distances to book fairs, going through a lot of trouble to get a signature from the author, essentially creating a physical "NFB" or non-fungible book.
The term "NFT," short for non-fungible token, is admittedly a bit perplexing in both English and Chinese, essentially meaning "what you own is unique." A book produced by a printing press is indistinguishable from others on the shelf until it's signed; then, it becomes uniquely yours, tamed and mutually possessed.
Even the most dedicated fan can't obtain a signature for every book. Often, to mark a book as unique, collectors will sign the title page themselves, stamp it, or write the purchase date. The more dedicated might create bookplates to insert into their books. The one physical book I couldn't resist buying at the fair, 活字印刷的發明故事，你所不知道的古騰堡！ captivated me because it came with a bookplate and featured a beautiful four-color letterpress cover.
活字印刷的發明故事，你所不知道的古騰堡！ and the accompanying bookplate
The Latin term for a bookplate is ‘Ex Libris’, instantly hinting at something with a long history. Back in the day, books were incredibly expensive, almost exclusively owned by the nobility, who would use bookplates to mark ownership and display their status. These were essentially small prints bearing the family's coat of arms, affixed to the book's front page. For those familiar with technological advancements but less so with historical contexts, it's easy to see Ex Libris as the ancient equivalent of an NFT. Both are sophisticatedly named but fundamentally simple mechanisms for denoting uniqueness. This is why, early last year, a pop-up venue released the NFT version of Tian Gong Kai Wu: A Practical Guide to Imaginary Inventions for Dung Kai Cheung, with the most precious 100 copies accompanied by a print signed and numbered by Mr. Dong.
In fact, over two years ago, I collaborated with Mashbean and Reference Bookstore to release the "Fool" bookplate NFT. This limited edition of 50 not only holds value as a collectible but also entitles holders to redeem three books: The Sociology of Blockchain: Reimagining Money, Media, and Democracy, The Infinite Machine：How an Army of Crypto-hackers Is Building the Next Internet with Ethereum and Networks of Outrage and Hope : Social Movements in the Internet Age with profits automatically distributed. The proceeds I received were donated to the Matters and the Renaissance Foundation's Frontline Fellowship for Chinese Non-Fiction Writing to support dispersed Hongkongers and those proposing to write about Hong Kong.
The Fool's Bookplate: Phase Zero of the Decentralized Publishing Experiment
Looking back, the Fool's bookplate represents what could be considered the phase zero of the decentralized publishing experiment. Initially, participation was low, and even fewer deeply understood the concept. About half a year later, by the end of 2022, the decentralized publishing experiment entered its first phase. I published Moneyverse: how money works in the multiverse in NFT format, and, fortunately, it was supported by 943 people, selling 1024 copies. While not a large number, it was enough to be considered a significant achievement in the publishing industry, making it into the ranks of publications with a thousand-unit circulation.
The Ongoing Publishing Experiment
Over a year later, I'm collaborating again with a pop-up venue to publish Moneyverse: how money works in the multiverse in traditional print form. It might seem like a step backward, but in my view, it's actually the second phase of the decentralized publishing experiment. I haven't emphasized this aspect in the new book's promotion because I prefer that this publication not be seen as just my personal experiment but as belonging to the publishing industry at large, involving a broader scope and engaging more people.
How does a traditional print book relate to decentralized publishing? That's a conversation for next week.
P.S. Why didn't I end up buying Chen Ho Kei's 隱蔽嫌疑人? Because I was fortunate enough to receive a copy as a gift from Kei, and we exchanged works.
P.P.S. If you, too, are a fan of scenes commonly found in Japanese films—where the main hall is decked with tatami, and you can sit on the veranda with your legs dangling, enjoying the view of trees and birds in the yard—then you should visit the tea house where I wrote this article, the 88 Tea Station.
My Works and Creations Bookplate Print
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