Taxis Magazine

By Its Cover / Chipp Kidd Poetry Month Poster

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Thu, 21 Apr 2005 17:53:00 +0000

Chipp Kidd usually designs book covers. He also, of course, writes and edits books. And here he's designed a poster for national poetry month.

I should start by mentioning that I like Chipp Kidd's work. A lot. I think he very often chooses just the right image (All the Pretty Horses, Magical Thinking, The Secret History, and gives just enough negative space (usually a lot) to the image to make it stunning. What almost always bothers me, however, his his typographic treatment. Most notably, here, his typographic treatment of the Dickenson quote. Why on earth is it letterspaced? And furthermore, why is Emily Dickinson's name letterspaced, given that it's italicized?

Too often this happens because a designer is just trying to do something different. But Chipp Kidd doesn't have that excuse. At least not anymore he doesn't. My guess is that it's letterpaced to fit into the space he wanted it to fit into. He wanted some black air between the letters. He treats each letter as object, to be moved at will, push and shove. But the trouble with that is that they are more than objects. They have meaning. They have a designed letterspace. They are more powerful grouped than separate.

There's no denying Chipp Kidd's success. But his success relies so heavily on image that the actual design suffers. This is still a gorgeous poster, and I wish I had one in my house. I wish there was one on every public building in my town. But maybe I wish it was just the spooky hanging dress. The web address for poets.org. Some very simple words, without letterspacing.

It's national poetry month, after all. What better time to be reminded that words are overstuffed with meaning. Letterspacing lowercase letters does nothing but distract from that meaning, which I see as a mistake.

Full Size National Poetry Month Poster.

Books about Chip Kidd:
� Chip Kidd
� Chip Kidd / Book One / Work / 1986-2006

Technorati Tags: chip, kidd, chipkidd, design, poster, poetrymonth, nationalpoetrymonth, poetry, april, letterspace, review, byitscover

Another Reason to Hate Canada (it's all jealousy, of course)

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Thu, 10 Mar 2005 23:25:00 +0000

Canadian writers may not always sell millions of copies of their books (who does?), but they do have an additional support structure in grants and awards. Such as the Writers' Trust Awards, wherein eight writers share in $133,000 in award money. If you figured Alice Munro to win one of these, you'd be figuring correctly. But there's more:

This year's winners come from across the country and include national icons such as Alice Munro and Peter C. Newman along with up-and-coming talents such as Saskatchewan-born Devin Krukoff. Other winners are David Adams Richards, Deborah Ellis, Elaine Dewar, Howard Engel, and Dianne Warren.

Congratulations to all the winners. I'm guessing one of the things you'll want to do with your winnings is buy You Are a Dog. It's just CDN$16.95, and that would hardly put a dent in your prize, yes?

The Jon Katz Page

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Fri, 28 Jan 2005 17:00:00 +0000

Jon Katz at Slate

Here's a quick link to all the Jon Katz articles at Slate. The most recent, regarding a border collie in the dog underground railroad, seems to have caused a tiny uproar. Though I don't know if it can be called an uproar if it's tiny. In any case, more katz here:

Slate
http://slate.msn.com/id/2077581&qp=40207.

Jon Katz on Fresh Air

I just discovered this Fresh Air interview with Jon Katz, and quite enjoyed listening to it. You might enjoy it too.

Jon Katz Interview on Fresh Air
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=1964311

Jon Katz

For awhile I considered calling this "The Jon Katz Adoration Page," but then I thought that might become redundant after reading what I had to say about Jon Katz on this page. So I'm calling it The Jon Katz Page, and I'll post thoughts and links and whatall about Jon Katz here, in an effort to get even more people to buy and read and adore Jon Katz books like I do. I'll post items in the order I read them or find them, so they'll likely appear here in reverse order, and I'll post a notice in the axis when there's an update here.

The New Work of Dogs

When I first learned that Jon Katz was going to blurb my book, my first response was, "who's Jon Katz?" When I found out who Jon Katz was, of course, I felt pretty stupid. His books, including The New Work of Dogs have pretty much become the dog books to read if you are at all interested in reading dog books. I had seen his books, but I'd never read one, in part because while I was writing my own dog book, I found that I couldn't read any dog books. I had to completely divorce myself from a genre that had recently become one of my favorites. So it has taken me until just now to finally pick one up and read it. And I'm stuffed full. I can't imagine why I hadn't read The New Work of Dogs before now.

The New Work of Dogs is just the right book for me at just the right time. In it, Mr. Katz makes a good case for all dogs--not just dogs herding sheep or leading the blind or sniffing bombs--are working dogs. They are working in our homes, performing a new kind of work, whether it be as companions or surrogates or lozenges, those dogs are definitely working, doing something in our lives that we can't necessarily do for ourselves. He spends a chapter with each of several dog "owners," shepherding us through their lives and how it is their dogs do some kind of major work. The book is touching and never cruel (though it would be easy to be cruel to some of the humans he explores), and though the book doesn't necessarily offer a sound-bite analysis of our relathionship with dogs, it does something only the best dog books do for me: it makes me spend more time with my dogs. It makes me want to help dogs in their work. It makes me want to read more Jon Katz. And it makes me a better human.

What more can you ask from a book than that it make you a better human?

By its Cover: The Family Tree by Carole Cadwalldr

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Wed, 26 Jan 2005 15:06:00 +0000

You are required, almost be natural law, to be attracted to this color red. I am required to do so, anyway. It's of similar hue to the Starbucks holiday cup that looks as if it could make your Starbucks quad latte taste better somehow, just by being red. The tree, too, in its ivory simplicity, seems almost perfect (though I wish it were just a tad larger, so that it became more prominent). That the tree has its roots explosed seems all the more exactly just-so. But the upper third of the design? Well, I suppose I understand the idea of putting the title onto a faded photo (look closely, it's actually a photo there) and then into photo corners, but it seems clich�, especially when pasted diagonally (which makes no real kind of sense), and encourages a sense of clich� in the tree by reflection. Add to that the flying bird (a dove?), and the jacket nearly crumbles.

But the base is solid enough to save this jacket. A solid, unframed author's name at the bottom. That color red. I suppose this red could easily and quickly be overused. I imagine a shelf full of utterly red covers would invoke suicide among book buyers (or worse, people who don't buy books). But once in awhile it just seems necessary. And I'm glad to see it here.

By its Cover: In Other Words by Christopher J. Moore

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Thu, 20 Jan 2005 20:57:00 +0000

In Other Words: A Language Lover's Guide to the Most Intriguing Words Around the World by Christopher J. Moore

Now that all the Christmas hubbub is over, I thought I'd take another gander at the Amazon.com top 100 books for my next By It's Cover update, and lo, what did I find but a classic, simple, lovely cover in In Other Words by Christopher J. Moore. This is a lovely example of a cover that isn't trying to do too much. It's not bombarding us with clich�s, it's not trying to get in our face with color, and it's not trying to say too much. There are just a few, subtle colors here, presented simply. It looks as if the illustration on the cover might even be a wood cut or linocut or some sort of lovelycut or perfectcut.

I would like to say a simple thank you to the designer for not letterspacing the lowercase serif typeface. Every designer from now on who refrains from doing this should receive a thank you. Flowers, maybe, or a box of chocolates.

My time for writing this is up. I'm moving on.

Blessings.

By its Cover: The Finer Points of Sausage Dogs by Alexander McCall Smith

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Thu, 13 Jan 2005 22:34:00 +0000

The Finer Points of Sausage Dogs by Alexander McCall Smith

The Finer Points of Sausage Dogs has a sort of classic appeal. Simple typography, unubtrusive graphics, and page-centered everything. The "Sausage Dog" (which I must assume is a Dachshund, though I haven't heard one called a sausage or weiner dog in ages) as a graphic, of course, calls out to me. "Look," it says, "a dog book." So I wander over. It's lovely, and reminds me of simple book-by-book hand lithography rather than mass-produced printing (though it's likely produced by the latter rather than the former).

I'm still always surprised when I find a relatively popular book that is so lovely. I don't know why I am. But I am.

I look forward to seeing this one in person.

By its Cover: The Many Lives of Marilyn Monroe

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Tue, 11 Jan 2005 08:04:00 +0000

The Many Lives of Marilyn Monroe by Sarah Churchwell

I'd like to think that the designer could have put any photo of Marilyn Monroe on the cover of this book and it would have been just as appealing. But if I really do think that, then I'm relatively certain that I'm trying to fool myself just to keep from spending too much time examining what is and isn't revealed in the photo (and trying to avoid making a cad of myself).

But what is and isn't revealed in the photo is precisely what makes the photo so appropriate.

The photo itself reveals a side of Marilyn Monroe that, though we may have been familiar with it, is not the side that we are regularly bombarded with. Yes, this side jibes with the icon. But it also seems a bit ahead of its time. It's unexpected. It's sexy (sexier than a lot of her photos, which should tell you something about this on). To put this image of Marilyn Monroe on the cover of this book says, "You don't know everything you think you know." It says, "Marylin Monroe was more than what you think you know of her." It reaches for appeal not often seen in a book jacket, and does so boldly, without hesitation.

The text? Very simple. Letterspaced uppercase roman type. It does not distract, nor does it neglect to tell you what the book is about. It's quite lovely, in fact, in its simplicity, and reminds me of a kind of architectural setting, as if this book were a building. And good show. There's a lot to admire in this sort of classical treatment.

Do I want to own this book primarily because of it's cover? I do. Does this make me a cad? Perhpaps. If so, then for this moment, this evening, a cad I will be.

By its Cover: Fairy Tales by Burlie Doherty, illustrated by Jane Ray

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Thu, 06 Jan 2005 08:57:00 +0000

Fairy Tales by Burlie Doherty, illustrated by Jane Ray

I was reading books to my daughter this evening, and I'd just finished 10 Little Ballerinas for the tenth time in the last three days, when I said, "I'm picking the next book."

"Okay, Papa."

I suppose she was patronizing me, but I wanted to read something else. Something with a little more... I don't know. A little more something.

This version of Fairy Tales, re-imagined by Burlie Doherty and illustrated by Jane Ray, was near at hand (somehow, almost magically, appearing very close to where we were reading--a kind of fairy tale in and of itself).

"I'll chose the fairy tale, Papa," she said. Okay. Fine enough. I read the titles and touched the pages.

As I held the book, I was struck by its heft, which is constructed as if meant to last more than a generation. And the illustrations are extraordinary. Which makes the jacket extraordinary, of course. It is enticing, this jacket, by illustration alone. And the interior pages are even more remarkable.

I suppose I could say a thing or two about the contents, since I've read it all. The stories are, well, the fairy tales you're familiar with. Cinderella. Hansel and Gretel. Beauty and the Beast. Closer to the true fairy tales than their Disney counterparts (and thus a bit more frightening). The prose is not especially lovely or musical or even striking, and this might be what qualifies it for good children's text.

However, my daughter chose Hansel and Gretel, as she often does. I know why she does. She wants to see the house made of candy. She wants to hear about the house made of candy, to imagine the house made of candy. But we seldom get this far. She doesn't want the children to be lost in the forest (and neither, of course, do I), she doesn't want to encounter the witch who threatens to eat the children, and she doesn't want to get to the thrilling conclusion (dad's not so bad after all... he was just henpecked by a hideously malicious wife).

So we look at the pictures, and she asks questions about the candy house, about the witch, about the story's ending. And this is okay too. I'm interacting with my daughter. And we're looking at some of the most gorgeous pictures I've ever seen in a children's picture book. What, honestly, could be better than this?

By its cover, Fairy Tales is striking. By its interior, it is remarkable. As a whole, I still can't believe they're selling this book for twenty bucks.

Blessings.

By its Cover: Thinking With Type: A Critical Guide for Designers, Writers, Editors, & Students

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Wed, 05 Jan 2005 09:08:00 +0000

Thinking with Type: A Critical Guide for Designers, Writers, Editors, & Students by Ellen Lupton

I love a good style guide.

No really I do.

Especially one that concentrates on type and type design. (Why the disbelieving stare?)

Perhaps not surprisingly, it is just such style guides as these that I judge most harshly on design. And I'm looking at Thinking with Type and wondering why I should care. Amazon keeps shoving it at me, knowing how much I love a good style guide (especially one that concentrates on type and type design). But I've rarely clicked on it. I don't feel drawn to the book. And perhaps it is because (in part) the type on the cover is presented in a rather pedestrian way. Also, you can't really appreciate the border (of black-on-white typeset pages) without looking closely. (You also don't see the curves and lines explanetary notes on the type's edges... but since they're not especially necessary, they're hardly worth mentioning... though I did manage to mention them, didn't I.)

This makes me wonder how many people might actually be designing for those little Amazon boxes. How important is it that we be able to see the aspects of design in a glace at a browser screen?

In a book like this, I'd wager that the most important thing is that the type be legible there, on the browser page, and also legible in the bookstore (should it happen to be set face out--however unlikely that is). The type should be clean and unhindered. So, though I don't exactly take back what I said about this book not drawing my attention (the contrast between text and field is awfully thin), I would say that at least I knew exactly what it was the moment I saw it. And there's something to be said for that.

Though I didn't have to look inside the book based on its cover, if I was in the market for a book like this one, I would at least wander through it and see if it was worth the purchase price. And that's maybe good enough. For now.

Blessings.

By its Cover: Everyday Matters by Danny Gregory

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Tue, 04 Jan 2005 21:17:00 +0000

Everyday Matters by Danny Gregory

On first glace, this cover is far too busy. I mean, I don't know what on earth is happening here but color and color and line and color. And that's its only drawback. Because upon closer inspection, it's Danny Gregory's book, heavily illustrated and hand lettered, and all that color and line is actually an accumulation of his drawings smashed together in a way that, although it amounts to a troublesome cover, is nevertheless intriguing enough to get me to open it up. Because I know I'm going to like what I find inside, from color to line to story.

How do I know? Because I've been following Danny Gregory's Weblog, and it's full of same.

I'd be much happier to see one or two of his drawings there on the cover. Simplify. I'd be much more likely to stop and look. To open. Alas.

This is one of those books that makes Amazon's "look inside the book" truly worthwhile. If you go visit his book on Amazon, I highly recommend taking a peek inside.

Blessings.

By its Cover: How We Are Hungry: Stories by Dave Eggers

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Mon, 03 Jan 2005 23:37:00 +0000

How We Are Hungry: Stories by Dave Eggers

In truth, this book has no book jacket. What it has instead is a wraparound, or ribbon, bearing the book title and author's name. Along with this is an elastic band with which to keep the book closed. As an object, How We Are Hungry is undoubtedly mean to look like a moleskin notebook, and does so handily. I'm not entirely sure the purpose of making your book of stories look like a moleskin (a book of sketches maybe, or a memoir), but maybe the purpose is more like anti-purpose than true purpose. That is, the moleskin is "cool," and reminds one of "cool," and is therefore worth emulating as a "cool" product. It is, at the very least, something you notice on the bookshelf. You think, "oh, what's that moleskin doing there in the fiction section?" Upon closer inspection, it looks to be Dave Eggers' latest book. And you may or may not be more interested in it based on this information. But at least you stopped. You looked. You said, "oh, cool."

And, indeed, "oh, cool," was my reaction. Then I moved to the next table, and asked the people at the counter if they carried moleskin notebooks. When they said that they did, I bought three of those.

So, thanks, Dave Eggers, for reminding me of moleskin.

By its Cover: Bicycle: The History by David Herlihy

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Thu, 30 Dec 2004 13:16:00 +0000

Bicycle: The History by David herlihy

Oh. Would you look at all that negative space? (For those of you squinting and wondering, I mean the black bits of the color, the expanse of "negative" color, the space empty of photo.) And the bicycle there, making up the "L" in the word "BICYCLE," though not especially surprising or innovative, is certainly well placed, and makes the title almost unnecessary. I wish that more books could be published without a title on the jacket. or maybe just on the spine. Why do we need a title on the jacket if the photograph says everything you want the jacket to say?

Of course, we don't know, really, if this photograph says everything the designer/author/publisher wants--or needs--the jacket to say. This one almost does--except, of course, that on first glance I'm thinking that the book is going to be a photography book. And it isn't a photography book. When I open it, and flip through the pages, I discover that, though the book is illustrated--and many of the illustrations are perfect-lovely-wonderful--the jacket makes me think that the book is something it isn't. So, well, damn. I still want it. The subject is interesting enough, the jacket is gorgeous enough and my need to click "add to cart" strong enough that I'm in full desire mode. Gimme gimme gimme.

By its Cover: Under the Sign of Saturn by Susan Sontag

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Wed, 29 Dec 2004 20:06:00 +0000

Under the Sign of Saturn by Susan Sontag

Perhaps it is a poor memorial of Susan Sontag to be examining the covers over her books too closely. Perhaps I should spend more time reading her work instead. I've only managed to finish reading--of all her books--On Photography, so I would expect me to at least have something to say about that book. But in truth I don't. I was perhaps too young, when I read it, to make much of it. I've read essays of hers since, and found much more to move me. And therefore my minor memorial is reminder of her essay collections, especially Under the Signs of Saturn. The Picador covers are not especially innovative or provacative (or even interesting), but they are elegant, and don't hinder being opened. With the name Susan Sontag comes a kind of automatic key... no need to put her name in neon. Her name will continue to be looked up. Her books will continue to be found. Those words will always be read.

By its Cover: The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Tue, 28 Dec 2004 12:26:00 +0000

The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

One thing I admire in a cover almost more than anything else is a little bit of daring. Although I admit that the photo here is a bit trite (how many times have I seen disassociated legs on the cover of a book? Many many times. Even yesterday's choice had 'em), I admire the open (and so ugly it's beautiful) field of chartreuse, with the trite photo stamped in the upper right corner. The typographic selection is so very plain that it appears almost hazardously so--as if the designer simply didn't know better. But I'd like to give the designer the benefit of the doubt.

I'd like to. But turn the book over (or don't, please), and I wonder. I know it's often difficult to plan for blurbs and synopsis and other assorted folderol, but one does have to plan for it, and what works for the front does not work for the back. The setting of the text does not look so "hip" or "contemporary" as it does simply wrong, as if the font outlines weren't sent along with the Quark files, so the printer inserted whatever they wanted. (It isn't pretty, and it doesn't manage the same beautiful ugliness of the front. At all.)

So, okay, the face works, the boot does not. How is this book likely to be shelved? Perhaps I should be spending more time talking about the spines.

By its Cover: The Other End of the Leash

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Mon, 27 Dec 2004 21:51:00 +0000

The Other End of the Leash by Patricia McConnell

I have no good reason for wanting to post this other than the dog on the cover looks very much (very very much) like my dog, Sadie, who is a Border Collie mix, and not a little bit crazy. This also happens to be a very good dog book, of which there are many. But a dog looking like Sadie on the cover of a book makes me look twice. And sometimes buy twice. So far I've only purchased this book once. But you never know.

The cover itself? It serves its purpose, though I don't know how well it speaks to the book. It gets your attention, because the dog appears to be leaping from a standstill, and the human legs (with trenchcoat) are mysterious enough.

That dog. She looks so relaxed up there in the air. I'm infatuated with that dog. Much as I'm infatuated with Sadie. So the photo is good enough reason, yes? Yes, I believe so. A good gift (along with You Are a Dog) for the third day of Christmas.

By its Cover: The Night Before Christmas Pop-up

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Wed, 22 Dec 2004 17:59:00 +0000

The Night Before Christmas Pop-up by Clement Clarke Moore, illustrated by Robert Sabuda

Since I've already posted here about Robert Sabuda, you're likely familiar with my adoration of his books. It seems fitting that in the last few days before Christmas, I should post a few "By its Covers" with Christmas themes, and though it isn't the night before Christmas, I want to start with the Christmas classic as illustrated and "cut out" by Robert Sabuda, because, again, the book is so remarkable that I simply can't help myself.

I do have to admit here, though, that the covers of the Sabuda books leave something to be desired. Not because they aren't beautiful and simple and on any other book perfectly serviceable, but because they're so very... flat. They speak to none of what you'll find inside. Sabuda books (and Night Before Christmas is no exception) spring to life like no other books I've ever seen. They are verticle as much as they are horizontal. And this one is also striking in the simplicity of color and line and space. But color and line and space all disappear when the book is opened. Because it's all movement and dimension and wonder.

I'm going to go look at my copy of Night Before Christmas now because I need reminding. Wonder. I need reminding of wonder.

Maybe you do too.

Blessings of the season to you all.

By its Cover: Pie by Ken Haedrich

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Tue, 21 Dec 2004 16:13:00 +0000

Pie by Ken Haedrich

I wouldn't care if this book were a humor book, a novel, a comic book, a blank book, or a coffee table book, I'd love it.

Look at that gigantic type in the middle of the pie crust. It announces all you need to know: "Pie". Here's what you need to put in the crust, folks. And somehow it manages to be appetizing even without the filling.

Which makes me wonder what a word pie would taste like. I have a feeling some words I simply would have trouble swallowing.

By its Cover: Resistance by Barry Lopez

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Tue, 21 Dec 2004 02:47:00 +0000

Resistance by Barry Lopez

I'm a moderate fan of Barry Lopez books. I've read some of his fiction that I found missing something (I couldn't quite figure out what it was that was missing, but I knew it was something), yet have found some of his essays to be so remarkable that they deserve to be read by all humans, whether they can read the language or not.

I worry a little that Resistance will be of the first genre--the fiction that's missing something (it is a collection of short fiction, after all). But nevermind. What I'm writing here is concerning the cover only. And I'm sitting in the coffee shop of a bookstore and staring at a poster of this book, as I have many times before now. I'm almost willing to buy the book for this cover alone (as a book designer is wont to do). It's a cover that I envy. That I wish I would have designed. The only way I can see this cover could more effectively make me want to open up this book would be if it were actually wrapped with rubber bands, as is implied by the image on its cover. Now that would be something, and would imply a kind of publishing prowess that few would dare attempt.

The image implies a kind of resistance that might not be expected of the contents. That is, you will and should not be allowed to read this book. Which of course makes me want to read it. Which is exactly the point.

Come to think of it, I know exactly where to find Resistance on the shelf. And I may just leave you here and go look for it. Whether I buy it or not is another story. The designer has done their job by provoking me to open the book. It will be Mr. Lopez's responsibility to convince me that yes, indeed, I should.

No promises.

By its Cover: America the Beautiful by Robert Sabuda

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Sun, 19 Dec 2004 04:46:00 +0000

America the Beautiful by Robert Sabuda

Have you evern experienced a Robert Sabuda book? You can't just look at the cover. You can't just read it. You experience it. Because these aren't just pop-up books. They're extraordinary pop-up books that perform gravity and reality defying feats of genius. But I was talking about the cover, wasn't I? Sure. Whatever. The cover is simple and pure and represents its contents as well as it can without springing to life.

If you see this book in the bookstore, pick it up, open it up, pop it up. You won't be sorry.

By its Cover: The New Annotated Sherlock Holmes

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Thu, 16 Dec 2004 01:36:00 +0000

The New Annotated Sherlock Holmes: The Complete Short Stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Even Amazon.com (from whom I've swiped the image) seems to recognize that the most attratcive features of this duo of books is that it is to be found in two volumes, encased, and that the spine carries the Sherlock Holmes silhouette that is completed with the two spines side by side. A lovely casebound edition that I'm currently drooling over, so I though you might want to be drooling over it too.

By its Cover: Day of the Dachshund

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Wed, 15 Dec 2004 20:06:00 +0000

Day of the Dachshund by Jim Dratfield

Okay. I recognize that this book is in "competition" with my book, but I also believe that it simply doesn't matter. Encouraging people to buy good books helps everyone. It makes the world a better place. (Whereas encouraging people to buy bad books does, I suppose, the opposite. I will let you be the judge of which are the good and which are the bad. For now.) Meanwhile, I'm choosing Day of the Dachshund because, primarily, its sepia cover is so darn breed appropriate. How could you avoid it? There it is, staring you in the face. And when you look at tihs book in real life, if you have a dachshund or have ever known a dachshund or have ever been near or hunted by a dachshund, this cover speaks to you in a way that you didn't know it was possible for a cover to speak to you. The cover says, "Pick Up This Book and Open it You Will Not Be Sorry."

We recently purchased Day of the Dachshund for a friend. Our friend is owned by dachshunds. So this book was perfect for her. And though the book is a little silly (okay, more than a little silly), it made and perfect gift for her, in part because she can set this book out somewhere and it looks at home. It looks like a book with a life in it. Because of that dog on the cover. Yes, just becuase of that dog.

By its Cover: Gilead

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Mon, 13 Dec 2004 15:41:00 +0000

Gilead by Marilynne Robinson

I just performed a quick rundown of the top 100 books at amazon.com, but the only one I could find (so far) that seemed to have a cover that was enviable (at least a little) was the new Marilynne Robinson book, Gilead. This cover works in two ways, When you see it from a distance, you are likely to believe it to be one thing (a cross, which it is), but when you look closer, you will find that it is symbolic rather than symbol. The item itself appears to be a severely cropped portion of an old, painted, wooden door. The paint is cracking and flaking, and the design, as cropped, makes it appear to be a cross. Nicely done, and the text placed there is large enough to see, but unobtrusive and elegant.

Still, upon reflection, I have to wonder how much my taste is in sync with the population if this is the only one in the top 100 that I find interesting. Of course, my sampling is severely limited, and I'm only looking at "bestsellers." How much influence does a book cover truly have? I think it has a great deal of influence. I doubt there are many who would not buy a book because of its cover (unless there was something truly offensive on that cover), but I also believe that a good cover can get a book noticed. The cover on my book, for instance, tends to stop people who are walking past. They want to see what that book is. What the title is. Especially dog lovers. Perhaps the value of such a cover isn't quantifiable, but it is certainly real.

Would my book be a failure with a different cover? Perhaps not. But it likely wouldn't enjoy the success it's currently having with a boring cover.

Does it make a difference? It does. Can we put a price tag on that difference? Probably not.

Orphaned Story from Book Magazine � �The New Leader�

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Mon, 08 Nov 2004 03:56:00 +0000

Then we crossed the bridge. Our mother was going to show us the river, how it had risen almost up to the path where we walked single file, the water nearly up to our feet, first my little brother Derek, then our mother, then me. As we walked we knew something would happen to one of us, but not this.

It didn't seem so much that Derek fell. He just stepped off the path, as if it took a turn�into the river�that only he could see. And of course the water couldn't hold him up. He sank instantly, making the slightest sound as he disappeared, the slightest wake in the moving water, the river deep and green and fast and powerful, more powerful than we could imagine, and our mother seemed to swallow the sound of Derek's fall, reaching out into the air with her hand and whispering sharply, "Derek," saying it but not saying it because there was no time to say it. Instead she dropped to her knees, then flattened herself on the path, and thrust her hand into the water, reaching as far as her arm would reach.

You know, of course, that a story like this does not always have a happy ending. In a story like this there are almost always search parties. There are parents shouting and crying and losing their minds with the thought of their drowned son. There is blame, leading to divorce and lawsuits. The surviving brother spends the rest of his life wondering why it wasn't him, wondering what would have happened if he had been first in line, the leader, if he would have taken the same step, if he would have been able to swim up to the surface, to find the shore. The surviving brother becomes depressed, alienated, drug addicted. The surviving brother nearly becomes a spelling bee champion, but loses in the final round. He becomes a mediocre chess player. He becomes a toll booth operator. He spends his days at the Museum of Natural History. The surviving brother remains the survivor, always and forever secondary to the other because he is alive, unable to outperform the memory of his drowned brother.

But this is not that story. This is a very different story.

A reminder: Our mother was lying on the path, her arm beyond the edge, plunged into the water where it seemed to disappear, flailing below the surface as if the world were turned inside out and she was the one drowning, waving for help, thrashing and drifting in the current of the fast-moving river, saying a kind of desperate prayer and knowing that she has breathed her last breath of air, and that all breath now will be wet, terrifying and eventually unnecessary.

Perhaps, having been submerged as long as he was submerged�fifteen, thirty, forty-five, sixty seconds�he was caught in an eddy, circling there in that spot, circling back and under, forward and up, backward and under. Perhaps he simply went beneath the water and stayed there near the bank. Perhaps Mother's prayer�"Please, Derek, Jesus, God, please, Derek"�pulled him back toward us, put his collar into her hand.

I waited. I kept a secret. As the water swallowed my brother, I felt alive. There wasn't time for the reality of what was happening to make sense to me, but I wonder if I would have eventually recovered from my initial thrill. As my mother caught Derek by the collar, pulling him up from the water and setting him on the bank, drenched and coughing, I cannot deny my disappointment. When he finished coughing, he let out what sounded like an abrupt laugh�a single "whoop!"

"Jesus," said Mother. "Jesus, God, thank you."

My memory of this event is as vivid as it is abstract, and I worry at the details, sometimes, as if not getting it right will cause the fabric of my life to unravel. But the one thing I know, the one verifiable thing that I want to share with you is this: What my mother did on that day was absolutely impossible. You could perform this same act a million times and never save Derek's life. He would drown. There would be a search. There would be danger signs posted near the water. My parents would divorce (though they divorced anyway). And the surviving brother would tell the story again and again, and the story would never change, as if it were the one story that could explain his life, why nothing significant had ever happened in his life, why he was a tour guide at the Museum of Natural History and nothing else, no hobbies, no motivation, no sex life.

Instead, both boys survived. My mother lifted Derek from the bank and carried him, turned us all around to get back up the path, away from the water, the single-file line reversed toward the bridge. I was now at the front, the new leader. The closer I came to safety, the harder it seemed to keep my balance, and my mother whispered at my heels, "Hurry up, now, we have to get Derek dry." I could feel them at my back, my brother so completely filling our mother's arms that I knew, should I fall, there was no one left to save me.

The Dogs of Babel by Carolyn Parkhurst

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Thu, 21 Oct 2004 00:01:00 +0000

Dogs of Babel by Carolyn Parkhurst

I know this is going to happen, of course. Even people close to me are going to recommend that I read every dog book in the universe. It's to be expected, and honestly, I don't mind. After all, if they don't recommend one, I might miss it.

Please know, however, that if you recommend a dog book, or buy me one as a gift, or hand me any other book on any subject at any time, there's a high possibility of my not reading it. I can't read everything, and so, at times, I read nothing. Or next to nothing. I read book descriptions on Amazon.com. Maybe that if I'm lucky.

But I might just read it, too.

I got Dogs of Babel as a birthday gift. I wasn't sure I was interested, but there was that gorgeous dog on the cover. And I had three or four other books to read at the time. You might say I read it because otherwise I would have to read something else. So, good. I'm one for, let's say, twenty.

Dogs of Babel is one of those breeds of novel that rests its ambition upon an idea, upon what appears to be a flash of insight, a stroke of genius, a single illuminating concept. I tend to think of these as "pitch" books, because the "IDEA" or "CONCEPT" or "PITCH" is easy to spot, is easy to transmit from author to agent to editor, or from author to agent to movie producer. (And here you go.) The pitch novel, done correctly, is destined for the movies (done not so well, it's destined for the remainder pile, but this may be a discussion for another time). And Dogs of Babel is no exception--it's a pitch novel done well. Here's my pitch if I'm Carolyn Parkhurst's agent (which I'm not, in case you were wondering): "Mourning husband attempts to unravel the truth regarding his wife's death by teaching the only witness--his dog--to speak."

Sounds intriguing, yes? Well, maybe?

The trouble is, a decent novel is extremely difficult to reduce to a pitch, and authors who are encouraged to do so (as they often are) tend to oversimplify their work. They may create average or even above-average entertainment, but if they attempt to stretch beyond that, they may run in to trouble.

There are a few aspects of Dogs of Babel that do just that. The darker aspects of dog-speech explored in the novel are done so in a manner that seems entirely outside the novel's scope. A sinister gang of dog mutilationists? Well, maybe. But it comes as too much of a surprise--or too much of a distraction. It removes us from the otherwise-central lovestory, and turns the storyline on itself as if eating its own tail.

Because therein is the novel's strength. In its lovestory. The lovestory is simple, yes, but beautiful in its simplicity. The lovestory does not attempt to change or move us into places we haven't been before, but this is precicely why we long for it. The lovestory is central to the human being. We want it. We want it simple. And we want to feel it again and again, even if it ends poorly. See Romeo and Juliet. Will we ever tire of those two? Is there any story less complex yet more moving?

I doubt it.

Meanwhile, I don't mean to be too critical of Dogs of Babel. I enjoyed it, to a point. It will likely make a good movie. And thus seems the contemporary landing place of the pitch novel. In the right hands, the movie can exceed the power and scope and meening of the novel. Bridges of Madison County, for instance, was a sugary, non-essential, throwaway novel that becomes a fully-realized, moving, simple love story as a film.

Maybe when they make the movie of Dogs of Babel, they an get Clint Eastwood to direct. Then again, maybe I better go finish my own novel before this dog at my feet eats me out of liver snacks and kibble.

How to Be Lost by Amanda Eyre Ward

noreply@blogger.com (Terry) — Tue, 05 Oct 2004 04:37:00 +0000

Thank God for How to Be Lost, by Amanda Eyre Ward. I�ve just spent a too-long jag of trying to remember why, exactly, I liked reading novels, when along came this one, and though I had my questions and doubts in the first couple and a half chapters, the plot lines did a nice double-back, and my assumptions shattered. I did find myself, after having spent two thirds of the novel in New Orleans and New York, wishing that we�d spent the majority of our time in Missoula (where the final third or so resides, and where the prose is sharpest, leanest, most enviable), but frankly I like it a bit loose, where I can�t really pin down either plot or style or anything else, for that matter. The novel that sets out for uniformity of voice ends up with just that, and I tend to find that tiresome. This? This is good. It picks me up when it needs to and drops me from the top of the stairs when it needs to do that. Reading How to Be Lost was a bit like drinking a cold bottle of water in one long pull. It�s cleansing. And it makes me feel like a reader again. And, not-too-incidentally, a writer as well. And finally, thankful, for having read it.