Visconti Homo Sapiens Bronze Age Fountain Pen Review

The Visconti Homo Sapiens Bronze Age fountain pen is one of my grail pens. It is one of those pens that catches your eye with its striking bronze embellishments and basaltic lava finish. There's nothing quite like it.

I held off ordering one for quite awhile, simply because the pen looked enormous and heavy. It is a big pen, measuring 5.75 inches, and it is weighty at 45 grams (both measurements are with the pen capped). Nevertheless, it balances perfectly in the hand. A seller on Fountain Pen Network offered this Homo Sapiens for an "I-can't-pass-this-by" price, so I bought it.

The packaging is sophisticated and suits the pen. The outer cardboard box is cream colored with the Visconti logo. Inside is a large, leather-like clamshell box. When you open it, the Homo Sapiens is encased in cream-colored cloth that contrasts nicely with the pen. The clamshell box has a slide-out drawer that contains information about Visconti pens and a polishing cloth for the bronze.

The cap attaches using Visconti's special "hook safe lock." I like the design and it's certainly quicker than unscrewing a cap, but I haven't found it to be all that "safe." The cap comes off too easily. I wouldn't trust it in a shirt pocket.

A removable bronze finial with the Visconti logo adorns the top of the cap. You can replace it with Visconti's "My Pen" system and choose your initials or a stone. I like the Visconti finial but might someday buy a stone just for variety.

In addition the cap is encircled by two solid bronze bands and the Visconti clip. The Visconti name is painted on both sides of the clip. I think they should have engraved it. If you want to attach the pen to a shirt pocket or papers the clip lifts easily.

The barrel has two bronze bands. The top band is engraved with "Homo Sapiens." The letters are filled with black ink so they stand out nicely against the bronze.

The bottom band is slender and encircles the piston. It actually popped off when I was cleaning the pen. It's not hard to press it back into place, but I'm not impressed when bronze parts fall off.

The pen uses Visconti's high power vacuum filler system. It's simple to use. You unscrew the piston, pull to extend it, submerge the nib in the ink and push. I do this two or three times to make sure I get a good fill. Unfortunately, the Homo Sapiens does not have an ink window, so you don't know how much ink is in the barrel. And vacuum fillers are notoriously difficult to clean. When I changed ink for this review it took a half hour of plunging to get the water to run semi-clear.

My nib is a 23K palladium stub (1.3mm). It's a beautiful nib with scrollwork and the Visconti name. Visconti calls it a "dreamtouch nib" which means it writes without any pressure being applied. It is definitely a smooth nib. The stub lays down a thick, juicy line. But, I've experienced hard starts and skipping, which is disappointing considering the retail price of this pen ($695.00). I suspect I'll have to send it to a nibmeister to tune it and maybe turn it into an italic.

Over time, the bronze elements tarnish. In fact, I've only had the pen a few months and the bronze has tarnished substantially. I used the included polishing cloth before I took photos for the review. It got some of the tarnish off, but the bronze isn't as shiny as before. The cloth is thin and doesn't seem to work all that well. Some Homo Sapiens owners prefer the look of the tarnished bronze; I prefer it shiny.

The lava body is something you simply have to touch to appreciate. It's a mixture of basaltic lava from Mt. Etna and resin. The lava surface is smooth to the touch, but has tiny pits in it, giving the pen a matte look.

The material quickly warms to your hand. And, if your hand gets sweaty, the lava absorbs the moisture. I've read elsewhere that when you ink the pen you should wipe off any remnants on the grip quickly with a wet cloth so the ink doesn't get absorbed into the lava.

The Visconti Homo Sapiens is an iconic pen. It's unique and beautiful. I've read that Visconti nibs can be hit or miss, and mine definitely has some faults. But, after a trip to a nibmeister, I suspect this will be one of my favorite pens.

Pros

• The basaltic lava composition of this pen is unique and wonderful to touch
• The power-fill system works well, but it's hard to clean thoroughly
• The nib is gorgeous and writes a wet, smooth line (but see below)
• Although the pen is large it balances nicely in the hand
• The matte black and bronze accents are striking

Cons

• Some people might find this pen too heavy
• There's no ink window, so you don't know how much ink is left or if you've gotten a good fill
• The bronze appointments tarnish over time
• The cap is easy to remove accidentally
• My nib exhibits hard starts and skips occasionally
• At retail price, this pen is very expensive

Montblanc Heritage 1912 Review

(Susan M. Pigott is a fountain pen collector, pen and paperholic, photographer, and professor. You can find more from Susan on her blog Scribalishess.)

I wasn't planning on buying another Montblanc, especially not one that retails for $1,100. But I saw one for sale on Fountain Pen Network for almost half the price of retail, and, in spite of misgivings about the seller (see last week's post "Remorse"), I purchased one.

By the time I made my purchase, I had read several reviews of the Heritage 1912. This pen seems to be one of those that you either love or hate. Some reviewers deride the white star/snow cap that makes up the entire finial of the cap, saying it is ostentatious. Some like the simple lines of the pen and others think it is boring. Some appreciate the mechanics of the pen (it works like a safety pen); whereas others find it cumbersome to use. But almost everyone agrees that the nib, though plain, is something special: springy with a tiny bit of flex, reminiscent of MB nibs from the old days.

My Montblanc Heritage 1912 arrived in bubble wrap and packaged in a cheap Eau de Toilette box. If you buy yours from a more reputable seller, you will likely get a nicer box. I don't know how brand new Montblanc Heritage 1912s are packaged, but I presume that the box is much nicer than mine.

I took my chances when I bought my pen from an untrustworthy seller on Fountain Pen Network. As a consequence, I got an imperfect pen. The exterior is marred by one very obvious chip near the piston and numerous scratches all over the pen (most of which you can't see unless you look through a macro lens, which I always do, so I see every imperfection).

Plus, as many other Heritage owners noted, the cap leaves scratches where it screws onto the barrel. At this price point, such a thing shouldn't happen. But since my pen already had scratches, I'm not too bothered by it.

The Montblanc Heritage 1912 is a small pen, measuring only 121mm in length capped and 126 mm with the nib extended. It fits my hand perfectly, but people with larger hands might find it a bit small, especially since you cannot post the cap. Even though the pen is small in length, the barrel is fairly large in diameter (from 10.2 to 13.1mm). It's a hefty pen, weighing 48 grams capped, 37 grams uncapped. So though it is small in length, it feels substantial in the hand. I find it quite comfortable to write with.

The gigantic white snowcap/star underneath a clear, resin dome reminds me somewhat of a snow globe. I've read that the star is either cut out of quartz or painted with mother-of-pearl lacquer. Either way, it dazzles in light. It's quite distinctive from other modern Montblanc stars and mimics the original white finial of the Simplo Safety Filler.

The clip also hearkens back to the safety pen on which the Heritage is modeled. It is platinum plated and unadorned except for the Montblanc star engraved on the back.

The clip doesn't even have the name "Montblanc" engraved on it, though thanks to this blog post, I discovered that the words "Made in Germany" are engraved under the clip. A serial number is also inscribed in tiny numbers and letters on the upper ring of the clip.

The pen uncapped looks unremarkable, much like the Writer's Edition Agatha Christie without a nib. The barrel is slightly thinner near the nib opening and widens closer to the knob. The knob is set off by grooves which match the grooves beneath the finial on the cap. That's it. The barrel of the pen is black, sleek, and simple.

The coolest thing about this pen is the mechanism that performs dual functions. If you twist the knob clockwise, the nib extends; counterclockwise, the nib retracts. Original safety pens did the same thing, and you filled them with an eyedropper.

But the Heritage is a piston filler. After extending the nib, you can pull the knob out and it functions as a piston.

Dip the nib into the ink of your choice, turn the knob, and the pen is filled with ink. Push the knob back in place and you're ready to write. I think this is absolutely ingenious. Though some complain that the pen doesn't hold much ink (about 0.8ml), I don't mind. I can fill it without the mess of an eyedropper. And, as far as I know, this is the first pen Montblanc has made with an extendable nib that doesn't require the use of cartridges.

The nib is 14K gold and rhodium-plated and Montblanc describes it as "soft elastic." Unlike most MB nibs with their intricate designs, this nib is fairly plain with a triangular breather hole. The MB star/snowcap symbol and the number 4810 are the only adornments on the nib, which is also stamped with the karats and the name Montblanc.

While the nib is by no means a vintage flex, it is springy and offers some line variation. The feed supplies plenty of ink and the nib writes smoothly. I've experienced no hard starts or skipping with this nib. I find it hard to describe why the writing experience is so special, but it is. This pen writes like no other pen I own.

The cap has a mechanism in it that prevents you from accidentally trying to cap the pen while the nib is extended. Yes, I've accidentally tried that once or twice. But this feature protects your nib.

The Montblanc Heritage 1912 is a solid pen. I can't stop writing with it. I love turning the knob and watching the nib emerge and disappear. (I am obviously easily entertained). Would I pay retail ($1,100) for this pen? No. I only bought this pen because it was priced well below retail. Admittedly, my pen was not in new condition (though it was described as such), and the seller gave me a partial refund. Ultimately, I bought this pen for less than half of its retail price. It is imperfect cosmetically, but it's a great writer, and that's what matters.

I highly recommend the Montblanc Heritage 1912 if you can afford it new or if you can find it at a really good price used (though I wouldn't recommend my seller). It's a beautiful, elegant, well-designed pen and an excellent writer.

Pros

• The nib absolutely makes this pen. It has a bounce and slight flex to it that is reminiscent of vintage pens. It writes beautifully.
• If you like understated, black pens with a simple retro clip and don't mind a big white snowcap on the top, you'll love this pen.
• The mechanism for extending and retracting the nib and for piston filling is simply genius. It works smoothly and flawlessly.
• The pen has a good balance to it in the hand, even though it is rather heavy and wide in diameter.
• The Heritage 1912 is a piston filler.

Cons

• Hoo boy, is this pen expensive!
• Some people find the white star/snowcap too ostentatious for an otherwise simple pen. Me? I love it.
• You cannot post the cap. If that matters to you, then it's definitely a negative for this pen. I never post, so it doesn't bother me.
• To use the pen, you have to unscrew the cap and extend the nib. That's an extra step, and some people find that burdensome. I think that's part of the cool-factor for the pen. But, if you find it tedious to add the extra step of extending or retracting the nib, then you won't like this pen.

You Think This Comes Along Every Day?

(This is a guest post by Jon Bemis. You can find Jon on Twitter @jtower42.)

After more than a decade of marriage it becomes more and more difficult to come up with gifts for the other person. The reasons for this are manifold. We’re lucky enough to have the financial security that we typically don’t have to use holidays as an excuse to get things we need. Replacing worn-out shoes and broken toasters are within our budget. That means we are each blessed with the opportunity to get things for each other that the other would want. The problem with that (and a nice problem it is to have) is that we already have many of the things we want. I love to cook, but over the years, I’ve acquired all the kitchen knives and pots and pans I need. My wife likes to sew, but she has a nice sewing machine already.

At this point, we’ve given up on most gift-giving holidays and instead open a nice bottle of wine, or find a babysitter and treat ourselves to an evening out. With two very busy lives and four very busy kids, the gift of TIME to be together is more precious than most “things.”

However, I am still a pen addict.

Ever since my addiction took hold, I have been trying to get my wife to enjoy pens as much as I do, sometimes with humbling results (See Pen Snobbery). I continued to hold out hope that I could find a fountain pen and ink combination that will work for my lefty life partner, and had been on the hunt for a particular pen for which I had high hopes. A Waverly nib has a slight upturn, like the tip of a ski, and I hoped this would help the pen glide through the push strokes with which so much of her penmanship has been cursed.

My search for an affordable pen with a Waverly nib had led me to one of those global trading websites, written mostly in indecipherable Japanese. (Thanks for NOTHING, Google Translate.) I was not at all confident that I was not sending my money and personal information to a hacker who could not BELIEVE his luck, but hey, sometimes that’s how it is in the fountain pen jungle.

The pen, a Pilot Custom 912, arrived just a few weeks before our 11th anniversary. I decided to break with tradition and give it to Dana on the occasion of our anniversary, a date we’d long since stopped viewing as a gift-giving opportunity. I didn’t want to ruin the surprise, but I did want to give her a heads up that I’d gotten her something, as I didn’t want her to feel bad that she hadn’t had the opportunity to reciprocate.

“I’m getting you something for our anniversary,” I said. “I DO NOT want you to feel obligated in the slightest to get me anything. I just happened to find something perfect that I thought you should have.”

“What on earth did you get me?” she asked.

“I’m not going to TELL you!” I cried. “But I will say this: If you decide to get me something, make sure it’s something you’d like, too.” I realized immediately how suspicious this sounded.

“What does that mean?” she asked. “Wait – did you get me a pen?”

“No,” I lied, unconvincingly.

“You got me a pen, didn’t you? I can’t believe you got me a pen. You’re such a geek,” she said, grinning.

“Look, I will neither confirm nor deny that your gift is a pen,” I said. “All I’m saying is that if you get me something, it should be something you’ll like. You know, in case I don’t.”

That got an eye-roll.

A few weeks later, our anniversary arrived. We were at our oldest daughter’s theater camp’s Parents’ Night waiting for the performance to start when Dana presented me with a small gift bag. (I, being a doofus, had forgotten her present at work where I had had it delivered. She got it the following day.)

My hand swam through the tiny ocean of tissue paper and seized upon a metal box, about the size and shape of an Altoids tin. I pulled the box out. It did not say “Altoids,” but instead “Kaweco”!

In a flash, this particular anniversary immediately vaulted into the running for best ever. My darling, amazing, BEAUTIFUL wife had gotten me a pen! Unsolicited! This was quite a moment. Even more amazing, she got me a pen despite having a reasonable suspicion that I had gotten her a pen that might very possibly end up back with me.

I opened the box to find a Kaweco Liliput.

But not just any Liliput.

A Fireblue.

If you aren’t familiar with this pen, it’s spectacular. It’s the same compact shape and size as the aluminum and brass versions of the Liliput, perfectly proportioned for a pocket or slipped in the sleeve of a Fodderstack XL. The Fireblue version, however, is made from stainless steel: a little more durable than aluminum and a little lighter than brass. A perfect material choice.

The thing that really makes this pen stand out, though, is the finish. According to Kaweco, each pen is hand-finished by the company’s CEO with a torch. The intense flame burns away residual machining oils and impurities, creating a unique mottle of gray, blue and gold on the steel. It’s a gorgeous pen.

I was thrilled. I was also puzzled.

The Fireblue is a unique and not inexpensive pen with niche appeal, and is only available from a select number of retailers. For my non-pen addict wife to stumble across it seemed unlikely, and I knew she hadn’t heard of it before.

“Where did you get this?” I asked.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

“I LOVE it,” I responded.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said. “It wasn’t easy to find.”

“How DID you find it?” I asked. “And how did you choose this pen specifically?”

“It wasn’t easy, but I searched and searched for a steel pen,” she said. “There aren’t many out there.”

I blinked. “Steel?”

“Of course,” she said. “Did you know the 11th anniversary is considered the steel anniversary?”

I did not know that. I did know I had married the most wonderful woman in the world.