After reading a few more pages, I turned to the front of the book to see if it had a table of contents. It does, and the self-explanatory chapter titles ("Front Door," "Kitchen," "Dining Room," etc.) are each followed by a page number. Ah ha! I had caught an inconsistency in the book's design, or so I thought. If the pages are unnumbered, why should the table of contents tell me on what page a new chapter begins?
On returning to the place my finger marked, I held the book open at arm's length and admired the proportions of the typeset text. How neat and clean the pages looked without the clutter of numbers, headers, or footers. Just blocks of text. This was a daring but effective design, I thought.
But as the airplane left a gray cloudy sky behind and flew into the sunlight, the book's pages began to morph before my eyes. What under the dim overhead lighting looked like a minimalist design proved to be much more subtle. There actually were page numbers -- centered at the top of each page -- but they were screened, a printing technique that produces an image that can be so faint as to be virtually invisible. Flipping through the book I also found that breaks in the text that I had thought were just blank lines were in fact punctuated with discreet decorative flourishes and swirls known loosely in the printing trade as dingbats.
Looking further into the book, I discovered that pages on which a chapter began were indeed not numbered, but this is not uncommon in a well-designed book. After all, the surrounding pages do bear numbers, and so it is not difficult to go from the table of contents to a specific chapter. In Geography of Home, however, the chapter-opening pages have decorations that are unusual. A screened printer's device precedes the chapter title set in display type, and the entire right edge of the page is decorated with a string of screened devices.
When the book is flexed front-to-back to spread out its fore edge, these screened designs produce a light gray decorative pattern suggestive of Morse code and reminiscent of old books that revealed a painted scene related to the book's content. Geography of Home proved to be a geography of design!
Steve Jobs wanted Apple products to be as neat looking on the inside as they were on the outside. Even if the owner and user of a Mac notebook never looked under the hood, Jobs felt that inside there should be as orderly an arrangement of parts as was suggested by the laptop's sleek exterior. Jobs would have liked Geography. You can tell this book by its cover.