Xeroxy Music

There I am in Blackwell's, looking around to see if the reading list for my module has magically transformed itself into a stack of actual books for actual students to come in and actually buy (answer: I don't think so, although I did see a pile of Bleak Houses; although every Blackwell's at every university is obliged to stock a pile of Bleak Houses. Or Bleaks House, I don't know), when I caught sight of the retooled Oxford Classics, and in particular their new Middlemarch. That looks familiar, I thought, for reasons I won't insult your intelligence by only hinting at right now, if only because this website's limited options for displaying pictures have given the game away from the start (i.e. the Russell T Davies effect). Yes, the same slightly plain, grey garbed, "I'm a governess and no mistake" woman was on the cover of the very same copy of Jane Eyre that I was already carrying (it's Daniel Macnee's "Lady in Grey," in case you wondered). What does this mean - that Dorothea Brooke was Jane Eyre all along? Was Sherlock Holmes really Casaubon? Did Lydgate turn into Rambo? You never saw them in the same room together.

Ah, books and their covers. Despite the turn towards a more cultural materialist perspective in criticism, the relationship hasn't really received a great deal of academic attention, probably because everybody knows that apparently you can't judge the former by the latter. Although in some cases, you can; the worst novel I've ever read also had the worst cover, best described as the personnel of a pub covers band (possibly called Xeroxy Music) badly photoshopped around a solar eclipse (which was at least partially relevant to the plot). I'm naming no names here, but it's the only novel I know of to be set at my old institution, the University of Exeter; the honour isn't so much a poisoned chalice as a McDonalds coffee spat into by Richard Littlejohn. In any case, book covers are far more interesting and culturally interesting than cliche would have you believe. When I'm in the US, a normally bland bibliopolis such as Borders becomes fascinating, because of the (often baffling) difference in cover art for the same novel on either side of the Atlantic. Paul Auster, for instance, gets treated much better over there by Penguin, as opposed to Faber's gloomy and grainy intimations of Americana for the UK market (and there's a better typeface in the US, too). The design for Richard Dawkins' The God Delusion is also much better stateside: a largely blank silver cover with the barest hint of reflection, looking directly at it and seeing the word GOD superimposed on your fuzzy mug somehow suggests Dawkins' argument more acutely than the UK version of a red explosion vaguely reminiscent of a nu-prog album. Sometimes, the differences are more subtle; the cover of Ian McEwan's Saturday in the US is really just a close-up of the back of the British cover, no doubt because many American readers won't be familiar with the British Telecom tower (the UK cover for Saturday is curious anyway, being a rather literal staging of the first chapter and therefore a bit like a Pan's People dance number). In other cases, the British versions are better; buy Haruki Murakami in the US and you're entering a whole world of crazy kitsch, rather than the more studied minimalism here, while crime fiction in America still tends to favour design that's unthreateningly populist, as opposed to the rather more cryptic Colin Dexter covers that have been around here since the mid nineties. And talking of crime fiction, I'm still hugely fond of the original Faber cover for P. D. James' Devices and Desires as a strangely haunting image, although I can't remember that much about the actual novel.

Back to the nineteenth century - there are definite trends to be considered. Buy Thomas Hardy in Penguin Classics in the nineties (where most of mine date from), and you'd almost certainly get a medium-to-long shot of landscape. Nowadays, it's medium-to-close images of a single person. Does this mean the way we read Hardy has changed, from a recognition of the importance of place to his work in character study? Dickens seems to have gone the other way - from one or two people on the covers a few years ago, to today's extremes - either moody empty spaces (Bleak House, Great Expectations) or crowded scenes from the original text (David Copperfield, Little Dorrit). As for George Eliot, designers seem to go back and forth as to whether it's the social setting or the individual character who really carries the reader's attention. Middlemarch is a place - Middlemarch is a state of mind...