As a modern lover of books but also a historian who prefers older history to new, I have somewhat complicated feelings about the invention of the printing press. It's difficult not to love and fear the press for its sociopolitical effects, but there's a vague wistfulness for the lost art of handwritten manuscripts. The central character of this novel experiences much the same pull, parsing it in religious and personal ways that felt very true to the time period. As he becomes more involved, whether he wants to or not, with the press, the descriptions of the art of printing take on an increasingly detailed feeling, describing a the new process in a way that is simultaneously terrible and, despite my modern misgivings, beautiful. The dramatic historical effects of movable type are ever present, but as background foreshadowing that leaves the plot itself focused on the small business, artisan, and personality of a small group of people. It is perhaps a bit mundane for the story of a book which so changed the world, but that made it feel true to me.