Judging A Book By Its Cover

The bookstore:
My bookstore guy is pretty well trained; he calls me whenever vintage cookbooks come in, and he always sets aside any old Scribner paperbacks so I can take first crack at 'em. He knows I’m a sucker for a well-designed 1960's hipster cover. He’s also kind of like a nerdy cross between Elvis Costello and Jason Statham. Plus he has woodgrained glasses. And when he's working, there's always a constant stream of Joy Division and Dream Syndicate playing. But I digress...

Yesterday, I was milling around, mostly not finding Brandreth’s Oscar Wilde and a Game Called Murder, but also checking out some old Hemmingway that I haven’t read yet, and generally just wasting time because I couldn’t think of anything else to do on my lunchbreak. I was just hemming and hawing my way through the used literature section when Bookstore Guy came out from behind his perch and asked, kinda shyly, if he could recommend something.
It was cute.
I said “sure.”

He pulled out a copy of The Geography of Bliss. He said I looked like I needed it.

It’s bright blue.



This morning:
I’m on the bus, nicely nestled in the wayback, and nobody was looking, so I pull out the bright blue Bliss book as surreptitiously as possible and start reading. Almost instantly the other readerheads' swiveled around, they were onto me... “That’s one really bright book.” “Wait! Bliss? Is that a self-help book!” “Are there at least dragons in it? Or mutants?” “Will this help you survive a giant squid attack?”

So now, I’m already very conscious of reading a book about happy places. The unasked question, am I in danger of finding mine? It’s hard to say, but with a literal busload of early-morning commuter cynics Heisenberging over me, I’m overly aware of my reaction.

My initial rejoinder is to affect disinterest. I tend to claim pure unaffectedness whenever a reaction is expected of me; it’s part defense mechanism, part unwillingness to let people predict my response, part secret inside joke that's funny only to me. So there is that.

Reading this book has already become much more of a test of will than it really should be.

All that aside, the 35 pages I’ve read already are pretty darn good. But before the day is through, I will be investing in a Max Californian book cover. Who wants to join me at the porn store?