It’s funny how many more details you can pick up from movies after getting into fountain pens—and stationery in general.
Caught The Emperor’s Club recently and couldn’t keep my eyes off the pens in the movie.
I find it notable that Sedgewick Bell wrote his essays with what looked like a cheap disposable Bic ink stick. *cough* Seems like a proper reflection of his moral quality.*cough*
Definitely stood out from the other pens used by students. Sad to say those looked like rollerballs and ballpoints though. The points weren’t pointy enough to resemble fountain pens. Eh.
The highlight of the movie would definitely be when Mr Hundert is trying to write his book on Rome while combating writer’s block. From the three seconds of screen time, I judged that he was using a green-striped Pelikan Souveran. Can’t tell whether it was an M400 or M800—it looked too small for his hands, but too thick for the smaller sized Pelikans.
I like that he’s a Pelikan kind of teacher! Though his writing style baffles me—a mix of Gothic and Italic characters that tilt every which way. (Funny how he doesn’t just used Roman roundhand since he’s a teacher of the Classics, lol. Okay, okay, bad pun I know.) I’m guessing they had different people write different portions of his notes. His writing certainly has character!
Oh, and the movie was pretty good, too. The feelz, mah friends. The FEELZ.
The great thing about Montblanc boutiques is that none are ever the same, not really. I mean, they all sell MB pens and watches and portfolios and stuff, but there are still subtle differences to distinguish each store.
Such as which LE pens are on display. Inevitably, the latest and greatest models will always be under a spotlight, but depending on local supply and demand, other LEs will be happily playing second fiddle on the side. And like all larger-than-life figures, nothing beats seeing the real thing in the flesh.
Today, for example, I saw my first L’Aubrac. The grenadilla wood looks a lot lighter than the pictures on the MB website—and the pen itself, a lot fatter. On the bright side, this allowed better contrast to show between the different-colored wood grain—very pretty. On the other hand, the texture and colors seemed to overwhelm the silver dots in the cap, which looked as if they were tiny stars drowning in an endless chocolate sky. But to each her own.
There were also two 2013 PoA pens on display—the Ludovico Sfoza/Duke of Milan ones, in both the blue and black editions. Black looked grayer than I expected; blue, less turquoise and darker, like concentrated Sailor Sky High. Pretty pens but also a bit too glossy for my tastes (I’m a maki-e, tree-sap kinda pen gal).
Grace de Monaco seems to be in every MB boutique I see, probably since she’s one of the newer Diva lines—which are, incidentally, quite pretty, slim little things. If only they weren’t cartridge fillers, sigh.
There was a MB 149 in the center back display with a nib that could eat all of mine for breakfast and then some (yes, even my #6 on the Danitrio—what a monster!). There’s a saying about princes born with silver spoons on their tongues—I’d say gold MB nibs would fit as well.
The 2013 WE Balzac was there too, the lighting making its thick gray (dare I say Pelikan-esque?) stripes even thicker than usual. I really liked this pen in the promotional shots until I saw one myself. It had an interesting shape, nice lovely Gothic lettering on the nib (shame my initials aren’t HB), and a cute story for the cap band design (inspired by a walking stick! Aww…).
But sadly, it doesn’t appeal to me in real life. The stripes look too…flat and gray, somehow, and the turquoise stones on the cap too small, and—oh, if only the barrel was semi-transparent so it could do that cool glimmering stained-glass window effect you get with ink windows! I suppose my tastes are too girly for it.
Anyways, the star of the moment was the new 2014 Great Characters Leonardo da Vinci pen. I really like the little wheel on the clip, and the cool see-through wrap-around window atop the cap, and the wing design they have on the nib and barrel. It’s a bit too silver for me (I’m a gold trimmings girl, through an through), but I appreciate style and da Vinci’s got it in spades. Totally steampunk!
You can read about its specifics on the official MB website here, but here are some phone photos of the display itself.
I admit, I took it so I could read the text in the booklet later. I devour descriptions like whoa.
Right, in case it’s blurry, I’ll rewrite the stuff below:
“Leonardo spent almost 30 years investigating the question of how a living creature can propel itself through the air under its own power. In his attempts to reveal the secret, he analysed the aerodynamics of the wings both of birds and bats. He consolidated his findings in many individual drawings and in one general study of bird flight. They are the starting point for the development of his spectacular flying machine–and now also the inspiration for numerous design details of the Limited Edition Leonardo. The engraving on the forepart of the writing instrument shows the study of a wing Leonardo sketched for a flying device on page 74 of one of his most famous notebooks–known today as “Paris Manuscript B”.”
“This page number served as the inspiration for the Limited Edition 74.
The finely engraved depiction of a bat adorning the handcrafted 750 gold nib is based on a drawing from Leonardo’s study of bird flight.”
& the small gray text: “The page number “74”, inscribed by hand in the top right corner, is the reason the drawing became known as “Wing study fol. 74r” in the literature.”
Yeah, window shopping’s pretty fun and this post was pure piffle fluff filler. Just another day in the life of a fountain pen lover.
This one happened purely by accident. I was writing with my Sho-Hakkaku in my Apica notebook on my knees. Apica, a Japanese brand, makes very nice, glassy-smooth paper—but rather floppy notebooks. One overzealous loop with an “O” sent my pen skidding across the page—even as the notebook slid from from lap. The result? A freshly sprung nib.
Luckily, fountain pen-verse is full of nibmeisters, and I’d been wanting to try one out for a while. So I got in touch with Mr. Pendleton and sent him my pen to be fixed. For good measure, I asked that he add a bit of stub to it too, since the EEF was quite thicker than my other Danitrio. I figured I’d have enough ink to feed a fat nib with my eyedropper conversion.
I was expecting the standard wait time of 3~4 weeks, but Mr. Pendleton managed to deliver even sooner than that and I got it by yesterday morning. My pen’s good looks must have charmed him, who knows? 😉 In any case, I did promise a writing sample with this pen—so here it is, with added pizzazz!
So, earlier this May I contacted Ernest Shin of Hakumin Urushi Kobo to make me a customized Edison Extended Mina in urushi with a maki-e cloud and lotus design I drew up.
The thing is, urushi pens take months to finish, because the coating takes so long to dry between applications. And that’s only counting those pens without any designs on them. Last time I checked in with Ernest (back in the beginning of November), the pen was still undergoing its preliminary stages of urushi coating….which means it’ll probably be at least a year before I see my customized baby. (Ah, maybe by December 2014 if I’m lucky?)
That’s actually okay, though the waiting period does inspire boredom at times…boredom that prompts me to Google images and pen reviews and what have you nots. So a few weeks back, I decided that the Edison Pearl would make a good canvas for maki-e too, and starting doodling more pen designs for fun.
Of course, I’m not going to jump in and order another customized urushi pen so soon—my wallet will murder me, and I don’t want to jump the gun before I try out my Mina (which is my first ever Edison purchase, btw). But I like doodling, and I like pens, so here’s a selection of my funky drawings. Who knows? Maybe they’ll inspire someone else to order a pen so I can see the results. I can’t own all of these Pearls, after all…
Hmm, I think the one with three fans as a design has some real potential!
Didn’t get to post this earlier, but Bryant Greer very generously helped me fix my Danitrio Takumi by forwarding it to Danitrio.
The best part? I only paid $2.11—just for shipping. They covered everything else—even the clip I broke via an accident, replacing it with a nice painted one with gold sparkles. So thank you, Bryant and Chatterley Luxuries! And thank you, Danitrio!
Since entering the world of fountain pens, I’ve experienced multiple instances of love at first sight. Some were minor cases of puppy love, where a shape or size of a pen would make me go “Aww…that’s kind of cute!” Others were like celebrity crushes that had me scrambling to Google images so I could save them to a folder for perusal at leisure. A few evoked some violent mood swings: rapture that plummeted into depression, thanks to the hefty price tags.
Thankfully, I got over the unobtainable sooner or later, because there was always something else waiting around the corner. Fountain pens come in so many different shapes, sizes, finishes, filling systems, and materials. It seems that nearly every part of the world has its own preferred brand or style. I, too, have my preferences, but the one thing that makes or break a pen for me?
Never mind customizations by nibmeisters (of which I’ve yet to try—-but maybe someday!). Just the stock nibs on the pens in the market today are varied enough to suit anyone’s fancy. Even nib sizes vary between brands—a Western F, for example, will typically be the size of a Japanese M. (I blame the kanji. You need to write finer to fit in all those strokes!)
I’ve bought pens before, because they’ve looked “pretty”…only to see them fall into disuse because the nib was too “meh, boring” for me. I like my tips to have a little personality to them. And although I love to hawk the merits of a “smooth, buttery, nib”, the fact is that smooth is a relative term. Too smooth and it’s like writing on glass—no resistance, but no soul either. You might as well use a ballpoint to do the same job.
People talk about “smooth writers”,”buttery nibs”, “flex” or “feedback”—-and I’m sure they have their own definitions of those terms too. Beyond the general categorizations, I have my personal definitions as well. How to describe it? I know my pens well enough to predict the type of writing experience I’ll get when I put the point to paper.
For example, my OMAS Extra Lucens is my definition of a smooth writer. It doesn’t write so much as glide across the paper. The nib is steady, but has a hint of softness that adds spring to the ride—like the cushioning of a luxury car. I feel like my words are whispers with this nib—drawn elegantly on the page by the magic touch of an invisible inky spirit. It’s an almost supernatural experience, and every time I finish a sentence, I have to pause and look at my hand to make sure I’m actually holding a pen. Unreal.
On the other hand, my vintage Aurora 88 is another Italian pen but with definite distinction. The semiflexible hooded nib has this firm, blunt, grip on the paper when I write—almost like a cat with its paws against the carpet. But there are no claws on this kitty—the grip, if anything, is a muted, subtle sensation that is offset by the springiness of the nib. The sensation? I don’t know…imagine a happy-go-lucky lion bounding in the soft earth of a field of daisies after the morning rain, and you’ll get an approximation of my feelings when writing with this nib. There is “feedback”—meaning noise—when I write, but it’s offset by the smoothness of the nib. Rather an odd jutaxposition of “rough” and “smooth”, I know, but…that’s what it is. An oxymoronic miracle.
Going further east, we have a vintage Pilot with Shiro nib. Shiro in this case meaning “white”, because the nibs were made with steel alloy at a time when gold was under strict government regulations. There’s a bit of flex in my little Shiro, but not enough to be noticeable. What’s more interesting is the nib—it’s smooth, but somehow, fragile at the same time. The nib just feels “thinner” than my other pens, and combine that with a lightweight plastic body and you have what feels like a toy pen in your hands. Still, the ink flow is so wet and rich that it takes no effort to produce a bright, bold, line. Like the OMAS, it’s whisper-quiet, but it has a wider sweet spot so that you can write at any angle and still reach pen nirvana. A languid, carefree pen, to be sure, used to the slow and steady pace of the past.
And the Platinum GLAMOUR lurking in the left hand corner there? I admit, I bought this pen for looks alone. But it’s a good pen, with a cute nib that performs well—just enough smoothness without being slippery. Sometimes, that’s all you need.
Both of my Montblancs write with a similar feeling—smooth and relatively firm (Dostoevsky has marginally more give), with a low and constant, steady hum of feedback in the background. Usually I dislike feedback, but its volume is acceptable here—and in some ways, almost comforting. I like to think of it as the great pen machinery of German manufacturing expressing itself through my nibs. Precison, perfection, precious resin—these are pens that strive to be heard when they speak. They act both as tools and companions, and their steady, unwavering presence on paper makes for a comforting hum when things are too quiet—almost like rainfall.
My Danitrio Takumi (freshly repaired!) came with a semi-flex EEF nib. At first, it was strange to write with it—a floppy, flamboyant figure that clicked incessantly when I held it at the wrong angle. (Which angle was right? I didn’t know.) But after breaking it in for while, it now performs wonderfully—flexing and thinning as the occasion demands it. Of course, it’s still a picky diva about its inks—it only drinks liquid silk like Iroshizuku, or else it sputters—but the words it writes! The line variation! The shading and sheen potential of everything that goes through its feed! You get the point, right? Slightly higher maintenance but oh, so, SO worth the extra attention.
The two Sheaffers I have are both vintage pens—one a cursive italic, the other a hard-as-nails Triumph Crest nib. They’re my dependable, steady, hard workers. The cursive italic is like one of those crispy crackers with cream filling—soo smooth when you stay in the center, but sharp and brittle near the edges. It takes a little maneuvering to master, but I expect that with an italic nib, so it’s no biggie. The Crest nib writes a stiff, fine line despite its curvaceous figure. It’s a straight to the point, no-nonsense nib (er, no pun intended here)—and may be going to a new home soon. Like other pens, I was enamored by its looks but I wanted something more from the writing experience. I’m sure someone out there who likes nail nibs will give it the attention it deserves.
Summing up my Pelikan M400, I feel the desire to call it a frankenpen of sorts. You see, I bought it used from another user—-so it has the White Tortoiseshell body, but not the original two-toned nib that came with it. The one it has now, a steel M nib, writes more like a fine and the tines are actually slightly misaligned—one side is higher than the other. When I write regularly, it’s not that obvious, but when I speed up, the nib likes to “lisp”—as if telling me to slow down and take it easy. I was too lazy to fix it when I first got it and now I don’t feel a need to—the lisping has grown on me, so to speak, and I like to take it as a reminder to take it easy with my writing. (Besides, my handwriting is worse when I speed up.) It’s an oddball, to be sure, but a lovable one.
A short essay written by Sōseki Natsume, as detailed in the book Reflections in a Glass Door: Memories and Melancholy in the Personal Writings of Sōseki Natsume, by Marvin Marcus. I like it—-it’s like taking a peek into the personal diary of a fellow fountain pen enthusiast. (Unlike Natsume-san, I adore my Pelikan. Hmm! His “Pelican” pens must be an inferior imitator of some sort! XD)
I don’t have the book, but now I’m interested in getting it because of this essay alone. Hahaha. And to think, I found it by accident while doing a Google search for “Maruzen fountain pens”. =p
“I was speaking with Uchida Roan the other day on the subject of fountain pens. Roan mentioned, in the course of our discussion, that Maruzen sells around a hundred of them on a good day…In view of the fact that so many of these remarkably durable items are selling at Maruzen, one could conclude that the demand for fountain pens must be witnessing a robust expansion.
One noteworthy segment of the expanding market consists of hobbyists and collectors. They will purchase a pen, use it for a while, then feel compelled to have a different one, which in turn they’ll tire of and crave some new brand or style. Consider the pipe fancier, a common breed in the West, who will proudly display his collection—pipes large and small, in all sizes and shapes—neatly arranged on one’s mantelpiece. He is driven by the same mania for collecting that afflicts those with a passion, say, for sake cups, decorative gourds, or—fountain pens.
They all place great store in the special power, lost upon the uninitiated, to detect and appreciate the fine gradations of difference among objects that appear virtually identical to the casual observer…”