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In Praise of Simple Pens
by John Mottishaw

The fountain pen is essentially a simple device. Ink is held in a reservoir in the barrel, drawn down through small fissures in the feed and further down the slit between the two tines of the nib until it contacts paper. All of this is done without any moving parts, pressurized systems, electronics, or magnetism.

The simplest of pens are made up of only five parts: the barrel, the section, the feed, the nib and the cap. The beginning days of the fountain pen saw several brands with this simplicity, including the Wirt (Wirt eyedropper, right), the John Holland and later, the Waterman's. There are even a few early pens that have a one-piece barrel and section, making a total of only four parts. In these cases, the nib and feed had to be removed in order to fill the fountain pen with ink using an eyedropper (thus the designation).

Early fountain pens were so elementary that they were comprised of just two types of materials: hard rubber and the metals of the nib. These pens were all made in this uncomplicated way and they worked. Of course spillages, blots and leaks were common, but these pens illustrate the effectiveness of the simple fountain pen principle: a little is sometimes enough.

Since those early days improvements and elaborations have changed the appearance and practicality of pens. One of the first major improvements to the early fountain pen was the filling system.

The introduction of filling systems, which keeps inky wipes and eyedroppers away from fingers, made the fountain pen more convenient but also more complex. Conklin Crescent filler pens were one of the earliest and very successful self-filling pens. In 1898 Roy Conklin produced the first sac filler for the Conklin Crescent. This invention added two moving parts to the pen: a projection on the side of the barrel and a ring to prevent accidental filling or emptying.

The Conklin Crescent had the additional benefit of preventing the barrel from rolling off a desk. Samuel Clemens (aka. Mark Twain) endorsed the Conklin Crescent in the early 1900's by saying: "I prefer it to ten other fountain pens, because it carries its filler in its own stomach, and I can not mislay even by art or intention. Also, I prefer it because it is a profanity saver; it cannot roll off the desk".

The Sheaffer's lever filler (left), and Parker button filler (right), added several more moving parts. Their filling systems employed the same mechanics as the Conklin but neither the Sheaffer, nor Parker, had protruding filling system parts that interrupted the shape of the barrel. These pens were a big success

The fountain pen took on yet another elaboration in the form of a pocket clip. The clip increased the pen's portability, but added to its visual complexity.

For those of us who appreciate simple things, we see these pens as physical examples of the essence of pen. They remain icons of straightforward design, even to our modern eye and hand.

History has shown that as humans we need to embellish valued objects. Fountain pens were, almost from the beginning, no exception to this practice. Gold and silver overlays were crafted for visual appeal, but this added significant substance to the pen.

Abalone and mother-of-pearl slabs turned utilitarian objects into works of beauty through high craft. This human desire for decoration has, at times, obscured the integrity of the underlying shape, increased the pen's weight, created imbalance and taken the fountain pen out of the realm of function and into that of a ceremonial object.

Of course there is nothing wrong with ceremonial objects. The art of collecting is based on aesthetic appeal not necessarily function and utility. And if the ceremony is ostentation, so be it. But in this case, the design criterion is to please the eye, not the hand, and we recognized it as such.

I contend that the finest fountain pens are those that reveal simple utility in function, shape and balance. The nib should write smoothly and be easy to control. The user, as he or she grips the pen, should find it fits easily between the fingers. (Although few people use them today, the earliest fountain pens were very slender; a carry over from the use of the quill and the dip pens of the 19th century). The weight of the pen should fall toward the nib end, not the end of the barrel.

When thinking about simple fountain pens I wonder: What is an ideal size; an ideal shape; an ideal weight?
The answers to all three questions depend, to some degree, on what the writer is used to. Having said that, my experience with pens and its users allows me a little insight and I hope my interpretation, at some level, is relevant to other pen users. So, let's start with size.

There are those who like a really big pen because it is easy to hold without clenching; the "big pen" is a particular favorite of people with hand joint disorders. However, my work requires that I use small hand tools, tools like an X-Acto knife for example. The muscles in my hand have retained the memory of small diameters, and so I find thinner pens easy to write with and control.

I use the "pencil principle" to determine the smallest comfortable diameter of a writing instrument. My index, middle finger and thumb will touch each other outside of the perimeter of the writing instrument. If the writing instrument is any smaller than the diameter of a yellow pencil, I find I cannot easily hold it. Pens that are too small rotate easily between the fingers, making the use of stub and italic nibs particularly difficult.

The Wahl Eversharp 1935 Doric is a good example of the smallest pen that is easy to grip.

Conversely, if a writing instrument is too large I also find it difficult to hold and write with. I also wonder if the large pen was designed with ostentation criteria in mind. (With the price of fuel increasing we are seeing the end of the "bigger is better movement". I wonder if this will carry over into the size of fountain pens.)

The next issue of the simple fountain pen is its shape. A faceted shape has an advantage for holding the pen at a particular rotation. Even the large OMAS 360 does not feel as big in my hand because the three facets effectively diminish the size of the grip.

Faceted shapes do not roll as easily as tubular pens. I see many Waterman's Edson pens in our shop for nib repair, because, while the writer was not looking, they easily rolled off the desk and onto the floor. The OMAS Paragon barrel, with it's twelve sided shape, is another non-roller. It's design history goes back more than seventy-five years in Italy and to the Eversharp Doric.

There is the question of weight. My preference is toward a lighter pen. Of course, this is dependent on size; a small pen will be lighter than a larger one. However, all things being equal, a full size pen should be between 18 and 35 grams. Unless the weight is in the section at the front of the barrel, I find a pen any heavier than 35 grams cumbersome.

That said, there are those "ceremonial pens" - instruments used for signing peace treaties or important historical documents. The immediate function of these pens is to draw attention to the act of signing. As such, these pens can be both visually and physically weighty to add gravitas to the event.

In terms of popular appeal however the most successful pens have captured, in some way, the idea of simple aesthetic and utilitarian design. Examples of such pens are: the Waterman's 52, the Parker Duofold, the Sheaffer's Lifetime, the Eversharp Doric, the Parker Vacumatic, the Parker 51 and the Parker 75.

There are a few fine examples of simplicity in fountain pens made today. Benefiting from an evolution of design over many years, while making an effort toward simplicity, two current winners are: the unadorned Namiki Yukari Royale (right) and the Sailor King of Pen (left). (Note the use of the singular "pen"). A narrow, but strong, cap band on the Namiki Yukari Royale produces a delicate cap lip. It would have to be thicker, without the band. The result is less difference, in width, between the cap and barrel giving the Yukari Royale its simple shape.

Both these pens are of Japanese make and although they are designed with the potential for applied lacquer work their shape is simple, subtle and uncluttered. There is nothing on these pens that interrupts the form

The reasons for using fountain pens are many. Not the least of which is the feel of the pen as it moves across paper, the easy flow of ink onto the writing surface. Let's call this the tactile pleasure. The pleasure of seeing and holding an object of elegant design could be called the pleasure of connoisseurship. And sharing pens with others is a status enhancing pleasure. All of these can add to the quality of our lives.

Many of us are interested in pens for their design characteristics. Within the constraints of good writing properties, fountain pens are objects of seeming limitless variation. Again and again, simplicity proves to be the lasting quality.

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