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I'm constantly
annoyed by the saying "you can't judge a book by its cover."
Of course you can. People make lots of money (relative to
a barista, anyway) making sure that you can tell the book
by its cover. Pink and gold with a stylish vector illo? Chick
lit. Trajan and Futura condensed caps, gold foil and embossed?
Thriller. Overexposed snapshot with weird cropping? Quirky
hipster novel. Crazy handwritten title? Someone who has read
too much Chuck Palahniuk. And comic sans? It better be self-published,
beeyatch.
But what
about using books with cool covers as a flirtation device?
Can you tell a person by a book cover?
Back
in the olden days, before I decided to become a spinster aunt
with 181 cats, I used to do a lot of internet dating. I didn't
date people on the internet. I find typing to be more
tiring than talking, though there's the added advantage of
not having to put on clean clothes. No, I had a profile on
Spring Street networks that I entered via Salon. Spring Street
is the personals site that services a variety of hipster e-zines
like Salon, Bust, and Nerve.
 One
of the niceties of meeting guys with the help of online personals
is that you discover immediately who has a command of written
English and who doesn't. I could easily overlook a sexy but
incorrect dangling participle, but I had to stop emailing
the guy who wrote "the only book I read is the dictionary
and thats only when I read you're emails lol," even though
he followed up that amusing anecdote with the adorable "you
got those big lips that make me think of blow jobs." What
a charmer! I also rejected a cute-goateed guy whose profile
photo prominently featured his tight leather pants. He said
his favorite movie was Blade Runner, but had never
even heard of Philip K. Dick. However, it may be possible
that I rejected him when he asked if I would be willing to
scream "Ai, papi!" during intimate moments.
Since
I was going to be dating literate guys, it was important that
I bring an intriguing book along to our first meeting. There
were three criteria for a first date book: it had to be small
enough to fit in my Hello Kitty mini backpack, it had to be
from a hip author, and it had to have a good cover. The good
cover was as important as the other things on the list because
if my date didn't show up, a good cover might attract another
victim.
It's
pretty telling that I would spend more time choosing a book
than choosing an outfit.
David
Sedaris's Me Talk Pretty One Day was rejected. It had
a great cover by rock star designer Michael Ian Kaye, and
it had the required small size, but Sedaris is very contentious
among my ilk. I didn't love him enough to want to be judged
based on reading it. A guy might think I was one of those
people who had a subscription to The New Yorker but
only read the cartoons. I didn't want anyone to know that
about me so quickly.
Thomas
Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 49 with the 1960s psychedelic
illustration on the cover was an excellent book for a blind
date. It was tiny mass market size, slim, with a groovy cover
and written by a renown reclusive post-modernist. It could
be used as a litmus test for potential sex partners. W.A.S.T.E.,
trystero, the muted post horn—did these things strike
a familiar bell with my possible paramour? Carrying Pynchon,
specifically Lot 49, said I was smart, cynical, analytical
and maybe crazy enough to agree to a madcap adventure on a
first date.
 I
also employed Kurt Vonnegut's The Sirens of Titan as
an accessory, again in a mass market size with a classic sci-fi
illustration. Sirens sent a subtle clue that I was
a sci-fi geek and a Vonnegut fan, but a snobby (but not so
snobby that I wouldn't read sci-fi in public) and knowledgeable
one. I wouldn't bring Sirens unless my blind date had
specifically mentioned being a sci-fi reader in his profile.
Reading science fiction sometimes gives men the mistaken impression
that I don't read "serious" literature, and that I dress in
elf costumes for three weeks during the summer. I recall one
date when the topic of Star Trek came up (I didn't
bring it up— Star Trek is definitely third date
material) and when I expressed enthusiasm for the original
series and Next Generation, my date asked, "You don't
by chance happen to have a Star Fleet uniform, do you?" I
got the impression he was hoping I did.
I think
the book with which I had the most success was Sam Lipstye's
The Subject Steve. This was Lipstye's first novel,
so he was a bit of an unknown commodity, but he had released
a short story collection, Venus Drive, to great acclaim.
Reviews compared him to Pynchon, Don DeLillo, and David Foster
Wallace. The cover featured a stark but friendly type treatment
using upper and lower case Helvetica on an American cheese-colored
background, designed by Rodrigo
Corral. Corral also has designed the great Chuck Palahniuk
covers (Choke and Lullaby among others). Most
people I was meeting would have at least heard of Lipstye
back then, so he was a good conversation topic. The Subject
Steve said I was almost on the cutting-edge of literature—stylish,
funny, but not overly obscure. It said I could have a conversation
that didn't include the word "theory." I had one very memorable
date that included The Subject Steve. Corral and Lipstye
really came through for me. Although when I mentioned tribbles
months later, I got laughed at.
So what
books might impress potential dates these days? Chick lit
and romances are out—that stuff frightens people. Never
bring Neil Strauss's The Game on a first date, even
if you're a woman. And despite the fabulous drawing by Peter
Bagge, I would suggest avoiding Neal Pollack's Alternadad;
you don't want to scare people off by thinking you want kids
right away. You could stop by your local coffee hut/poetry
open mic and see what the beautiful people with the soulful
eyes and the messy hair are reading, or you can look on book
jacket blogs like fwis,
which feature stylish covers, commentary, and interviews with
designers.
Or you
could, god forbid, bring a book you actually enjoy.
(May,
2008)
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