Master Dilettante

I am a “snooty pen guy,” which means I irrationally experience joy in owning, using and being seen with fancy pens. I won’t try to explain this, because “irrational” necessarily means without reason.

Well over a year ago, I lost the Montblanc Meisterstück rollerball (black enamel with platinum accents) pen I’d had for years. I vaguely recall that it cost around $135 to $165 when I first acquired it, and the price now has climbed to over $250 – too much even for me for a self-indulgent expense.

My fondness for Montblanc started with a Meisterstück fountain pen my father gave me (well, I took it from him) in high school, continued with a Meisterstück ballpoint pen I lost and then ended most recently with the rollerball. I love the sleek designs, the luxury image and the fluidity with which they write.

Resigned to using the assortment of Pilot Razor Points and Bic round sticks my office provides and the odd pens I pick up from hotel rooms, I’d successfully suppressed my desire for fine writing instruments. That is, until I saw a colleague using an intriguing implement in a meeting the other day.

What on Earth was it? It was polished, shiny black, possibly lacquered, with silver-colored accents. It had an oddly-shaped point – was that a nib? – jutting out from it. And he clicked on one end to extend and retract the point. Watching him write, I saw the lovely amounts of ink left behind on the paper as the pen traced letters. A few questions from me later, I had a description and a name for this new object of desire: The Pilot Namiki Vanishing Point, also known as the Pilot Namiki Capless.

Namiki is a high-end sub-brand of writing instruments from Pilot, the very same Japanese company that mass manufactures the Pilot Razor Point and a myriad of other pens and pencils. The Namiki product line features pens and pencils constructed from premium materials (gold, silver, rhodium, lacquer, celluloid, etc.), with elegant designs and precision quality for the writing components. At the most expensive end of the cost spectrum for Namiki collections is the Emperor Collection, with the “Carp on Waterfall” and “Rabbit in Moonlight” fountain pens selling at retail for $8500. These practically art pieces are hand painted in gold, lacquer and color pigments and feature 18 karat gold nibs accented with rhodium.

The Vanishing Point fountain pen collection is more modest in price, at ~$140 at retail. It’s named “Vanishing Point” or “Capless” for the retractable fountain nib. Desire grew within me, and I had to have one. I found several on eBay, and, a successful auction – I paid less than $100 – and a week later, my Vanishing Point arrived in my greedy little hands.

Included in the functional, Pilot-branded black box were the pen casing, including the ink cartridge-holding component in it, and one cartridge of ink. The pen also is available with a twist converter used with an ink bottle. Reminiscent of my Montbanc pens, I’d chosen basic black with rhodium accents.

At first, I was displeased with the light, watery color of the ink. I quickly grew used to the color, which dried darker, however, and also discovered that while I did not love Pilot’s Namiki blue ink, the blue/black and black were more pleasing to my eye. Moreover, a host of additional inks are available and can be used with the twist converter should one have the time to experiment; I don’t know whether other cartridges can be used with the pen.

Other than that first impression of the ink, I love the pen and now use it exclusively. The body is thicker and heavier than the Meisterstück rollerball or ballpoint pens but thinner than the Meisterstück Le Grand line. I enjoy the bulk and heft. The nib writes smoothly. The retraction mechanism is cleverly designed and operates well.

The one evident drawback is that the placement of the pen clip at the nib end is awkward when writing. Those with experience with calligraphy know that the edge of the nib typically crosses the horizontal line of writing at approximately a 45 degree angle. The pen clip forces some writers to hold the pen at a steeper angle, and this requires some adjustment in grip. I speculate that the clip is at this end so that if the pen is clipped into a shirt pocket, the ink runs from the nib into the reservoir instead of vice versa. Without a cap, perhaps this is a failsafe against leaking, although I imagine the design should be such that leakage is all but eliminated.

As with all fountain pens, the nib is subject to damage. A colleague was examining the pen, and, before I had a chance to react and to my horror, ground the nib with force into a pad of paper, slightly separating the two leaves of the nib and thereby damaging them. The result was that too much ink was coming out of the nib while I wrote. Fortunately, remedies for this sort of behavior exist. I will never allow someone to use the pen again, however, without instructing them to write very lightly. I, myself, have been writing more lightly than usual with it and believe my penmanship is improving. Perhaps I will in my voluminous amounts of spare time, I will continue to work on my handwriting: http://paperpenalia.com/handwriting.html.

I suppose we shall see how long obsession with this particular toy continues. Ironically, as one friend noted, virtually everything we write on paper in this day and age, we throw away. Accordingly, I use my Vanishing Point to write to-do lists and other notes that I eventually discard. The experience is fleeting, but enjoyable during the moment.