Judging By the Cover: Chris Cleave's LITTLE BEE

The cover of Chris Cleave's novel Little Bee is an excellent example of successful, targeted book marketing. I picked this book up at the airport a few months ago, on my way home from an incredible, but very exhausting trip in California. I was pretty sure I would zone out and watch an in-flight movie--in fact, I was looking forward to letting my brain slow down and melt into a media-engorged puddle.

I wasn't in the mood to read. Responsible budgeting dictated that I did not have enough funds to support another book purchase.

But there it was. Bright and coyly insistent, this tangerine cover and its whimsical silhouette smiled me a welcome hello! It was magnetic--I couldn't help but pick it up.

The contrast of the silhouette, its curling strands of hair whirling against a citrus background is striking; the loose, calligraphic font carries a whimsical note, but has a melancholic quality that evokes some of the unsettling thematic elements of the novel. The superimposed negative (white) silhouette on the eye is charming but strangely abrupt. It's a Laura Secord white chocolate sweetly creating a void, a deadening of the human gaze.

The two silhouettes are at play, but the interplay is tension wrought and uncomfortably stirring; it's a play on the typical cameo pin that features an aristocratic head--a lovely Englishwoman with a long sloping neck, hair piled in wispy curls. Here, the dominating cameo is of a little Nigerian girl, her upturned chin evoking a steady, unrelenting focus, a restrained elegance and confidence that gives her weight and purpose. What's more, this cover image/design carries the weight of the story itself: a Nigerian refugee girl lands in the UK with nothing and collides with a white, British woman who seems to have everything. They share a life-threatening secret that binds them together in ways they did not imagine.



Astutely, the cover image connects with the first line of the book, invoking the cameo of the Queen on British currency: "Most days I wish I was a British pound coin instead of an African girl. Everyone would be pleased to see me coming." Like a scientist observing his human experiment, the book marketer knows what we do when we're testing out a book, when we're weighing whether or not we should actually purchase it. We flip it over, read the back, then if our interest is piqued, we read the first page. Everything connects.

The back cover of my US paperback version of the book features one of the strangest, infuriating, and ultimately successful book summaries I've come across. The back cover acts as a pitch to the reader, expressing in 250 words or less, why you should throw down your money, and then invest your time to read this book.

I wouldn't even call what appears on the back cover of Little Bee a summary--it's marketing kitsch and I'll admit rather begrudgingly that it works:

"We don't want to tell you what happens in this book.
It is a truly Special Story and we don't want to spoil it.
Nevertheless, you need to know enough to buy it, so we will just say this:

This is a story of two women. Their lives collide one fateful day, and one of them has to make a terrible choice, the kind of choice we hope you never have to face. Two years later, they meet again--and the story starts there...

Once you have read it, you'll want to tell your friends about it. When you do, please don't tell them what happens. The magic is in how the story unfolds."

Okay, seriously, I know. You don't have to say it. It's overkill. It's cheesy. It plays like a melodramatic voice-over prying at our dormant human emotions. It's so blatant in its attempt to get you interested, that it can be off putting. It's purposely vague, hideously peppered with cliches, yet it appeals to this basic desire in all of us to feel something, anything. In fact, it promises to deliver exactly what we want: a guaranteed good read.

This back cover gives me little to no information on what the story is about--all I know is that there's two women (two women!!! Automatic tension!), there's some sort of terrible choice (what could it possibly be???), and that when these two women meet, an amazing story unfolds. So amazing, that the book cover is written in second person--it speaks directly to me. It orders me not to reveal what happens in the book to my friends. The book is so amazing that I'll want to run out and tell everyone everything about it, plot details and all--but I shouldn't. Why? Because it's just too amazing. It would be like forcing your friend to watch the final Harry Potter movie when they haven't read/watched any of the previous books/movies.* Don't ruin it. We're in this together.

Chris Cleave's own description of his book is far better than the one they slapped on the back of the paperback, but would it have been as effective?



His narration is compelling, informative, more in tune with the themes in the book; I actually know what to expect. I'm interested and willing.

But I also consider the reach of this book--it's a #1 New York Times Bestseller--and I think part of what contributes to that success is the buzz that surrounds the book (the part of us that nudges, 'bestseller? it must be good!') and the way in which people are invited to read it. Tell someone you read a book about refugees and immigration issues and you're not going to garner interest across a wide demographic spectrum. People who already have a specific interest in the topic might ask you for more, but the reach is very limited.

It's not that people don't care about immigration issues and refugees, it's that their interest has to be accessed through a platform they understand. If you tell someone you read a book about two women who are bound together by a terrible choice, you're appealing to a curiosity that exists across boundaries and borders. People are connected by the same hopes, fears, and desires, regardless of what demographic they fit into. Appeal to those seemingly generic themes and you make powerful connections that sell a lot of books.

And just like that, I've got another book in my suitcase.

Look for my reflection on Little Bee in the coming weeks.

Cover design: Jill Putorti

Image sources: Little Bee cover from Chris Cleave's website; cameo from Timpsonwiki.

* I only read the first HP book....and then, of my own volition, went with a friend to watch the very last installment of the films.

Judging by the Cover...

A bookstore is just like a bakery. You press your face up against the window and your eyes lock onto that creamy dreamy strawberry shortcake gleaming from its pedestal of sugary glory. Tart strawberries, a petulant red against whorls of airy cream and just a thin plane of glass between you and bliss. It's meant for you.Your brain sends jolts of electricity to your salivary glands, your mouth waters, your base instincts are ignited, and you must have it.

In a bookstore, it's not all that different. An attractive book cover lures a reader with a pleasing colour palette, intriguing typeface and seamless graphic design. It's a careful synchronization of visual elements that aim to do two things: first, accurately represent the book and its contents and second, attract a potential reader.

So yes, I have sinned. I do judge books by their covers. When I'm strolling through displays in a coffee-tinged bookstore, I'm naturally drawn to certain books while others I might pass over without much thought. Superficial, maybe. But I'm a firm believer in how a cover--its design, its tactile presence--can make the reading experience a better one. Will a pretty cover fix a crappy novel? No. But it'll draw you in and make you give it a chance.

And while a book sits waiting on display, that's really all it's asking for--a chance! The moment you pick a book up off a display and give it a quick flip-through, a book designer is already trilling success. Because when you pick it up, you may skim the back cover, have a read through the inside flaps, skim the first few lines and then...and then you might buy it. And that--that is sweet, calculated success.

Of course, this is how a lot of unfortunate novels win muddled hearts. A promising cover is often just playing dress up for an unpleasant, vapid read. It can be a bit traumatic. A perfect cover sets up high expectations and then your hopes melt to oblivion once you open the book up and discover another vampire novel.

But the real tragedy is when an excellent novel is burdened with an ugly cover. It's such a waste--such bright enthusiastic little things lost, forlorn, and left behind because their covers are so revolting. You know the ones--the title in Times New Roman centered over a photograph of a mountain, or maybe a clock, or some other literal representation of something that appears in the book. And even if a novel is good enough to overcome this trial and make its way into welcoming hands through the weight of its reputation, there's nothing worse than looking forward to a good read only to be met with a hideous cover. It dampens the reading spirit.

To encourage attractive and alluring book covers, here's a look at a few books I recently purchased where the cover played a major role in my decision to pick it up and give it a chance:



Elizabeth Ruth's Ten Good Seconds of Silence. Design by Jennifer Scott. Front cover (face) photo by Leni Johnston.

This is a dreamy colour palette-- that acerbic yellow muted by a filter of smoky greens and set alight by a hazy smear of violet. The image has depth; you're looking through the grass, through bands of light and meeting an intent gaze. Many covers use a direct gaze to be confrontational, sometimes off putting, achieving a sense of unease. This gaze is soft, but probing. We're meeting her gaze, but she's looking into us. The typeface isn't specified, but it's clean and the serif-font has the effect of appearing grounded against this washy background.

Included at the bottom of the cover are the prizes the book has garnered. Always a clincher for a reader on the fence--"if it won an award, it has to be good...right?"



Ray Robertson's What Happened Later. Cover and text design: Gordon Robertson. Cover images: Shutterstock.

This purchase: 80% of my decision can be attributed to this bright and bold, glossy cover. The red and white colour palette is surprisingly cohesive, yet it achieves a jarring effect when placed against the close-up, diagonal photograph of a classic car. The cut-out shapes hold text in haphazard alignment and interesting fonts, both creating a sense of breathlessness. I'm pretty sure this is going to be a weird read.

Images (respectively): princedd, City of Toronto, and goodreads.