Covers
Sam Bryant (Sam_Bryant@atlmug.org)
Wed, 08 Oct 1997 22:29:21 -0400
All this discussion about covers has made me decided to explain one of my TIP
words and how it applies: cheesification.
Cheesification is that process by which something original and pure, and often
sacred, like Catcher, is "packaged" in such a way that it ruins the whole idea
of how the book (or whatever) is meant to be seen. A very good (and in fact the
original) example of this is the contrast between my copy of Fahrenheit 451 and
that of a friend of mine. Mine is a Simon and Shuster Book Club hardback,
published in 1967. The black front has, in mid-sized serifs, all the same size
and capital RAY BRADBURY FAHERNHEIT 451, each word on a new line. The bottom
2/5 of each letter is red against the otherwise white color of the letters. At
the bottom of the cover, in small lowercase serifs, is "with a new introduction
by the author". On the back is an uncaptioned photo of Bradbury. His copy is a
small paperback, with firey letters proclaiming the title, and a book that
looks like it came strait of of Myst is pictured. Guess which one caused our
term "cheesified" to be coined?
The point is, covers need to express the original ideas about presentation by
the authors, and not try to be works of pop art or marketing tools in
themselves. A cover shouldn't be extravagant or ugly, unless that's the way the
author intends it (and such desires are questionable).
I've got a burgundy Catcher, a Yellow RHTRBC/S:AI, an old (bantam, not
time/warner) white f&z, and I used to have an old white and colored rectangles
nine stories, which I just lost at school and have been regretting it greatly.
My dad remembers the copy of catcher he had confiscated in 8th grade, which he
remembers having a "lurid painting" on the cover. I've seen a similarly
packaged copy at school recently (for about a month last year in 8th grade,
Salinger was the in thing to read; all the sugs were reading Catcher). Complete
cheesification, no better way to say it.
Of course, if you want to be pure, you go back and read most of it in the New
Yorker...
Sam