Under cover

Douglas Adams once wrote, ‘Wodehouse is the greatest comic writer ever.’ Plum’s grateful publishers used the endorsement generously. It went on the cover of every subsequent edition. It couldn’t be bettered as a puff. Its praise was unconditional. It was the greatest not merely ‘of the century’ or wimpishly ‘of his generation’, but ever. And it came from the writer many regard as the funniest ever, although only in the galaxy.
More earthbound writers such as myself may find that the search for a flattering tag to put on the cover of a book a spiritless task, as I found with my new novel (Beyond Reason, published by Solidus, since you ask). What may be a reasonable, even sensible, review of a previous book in a respectable paper turns out to be singularly devoid of a phrase recognising the genius of the author. Do you then, with artful editing, extract a few telling words from the unhelpful review and link them by dots? Probably. Will it look convincing? Probably not. Readers, real readers, that admirable minority who browse in bookshops and belong to libraries, tend to distrust reviews, believing them to be fixed by publishers. They are unlikely to be moved by the edited phrase with its nasty lying dots.
However, fortunately for the trade of publishing, most books are not bought by real readers. They are bought on impulse, because it would be nice to buy something, even a book, or as presents or because a book has been mentioned on the telly and everyone is said to be reading it. So for the great book-buying public the tag will probably not be noticed, even if it is of Wodehouse quality. But it will pander harmlessly to the author’s vanity, and ease the publisher’s fears that the book may be a turkey. It will give the cover designer something to grumble about because it doesn’t fit the design. But it won’t do any damage.
More important is what else goes on the cover, the encomium, usually unkindly called the blurb. Not many readers, even real readers, get as far as the back cover. The title of the book and the name of the author will have convinced the majority that this is not something that will change your life, even in a three for two deal (cheapest is free). But those who have not actually rejected the book and seemingly seek more information deserve your particular attention. What can be said to retain their trust? What about ‘prize-winning author’? If you must, but as the Dodo told Alice, ‘Everybody has won, and all must have prizes.’
William Safire, an American who writes about the English language, has provided useful tips for those who work in the ‘blurbosphere’. Drawing on research into publishing’s language of hagiography, he says that ‘acclaimed’ has come to mean that the author received at least one good review. ‘Widely acclaimed’ means two or more reviews plus a plug on TV. ‘Critically acclaimed’ means the book was decently reviewed in a specialised publication but didn’t sell. To this category may perhaps be added ‘succès d’estime’, but foreign words risk confusing the potential buyer.
Safire is also helpful about blurbs for forgotten authors whose previous books went out of print years ago. ‘Long-awaited’ is the appropriate adverb. Even dull books need not defeat the resourceful blurb writer. ‘Meticulously researched’ will come to the rescue. ‘Definitive’ and ‘insightful’ should get you out of real trouble. Or you, the author, could simply write your own blurb. Lauri Lee did. ‘Sure to become a classic’ he advised perusers of Cider with Rosie. A handy word, ‘classic’.
The cover often contains a picture of the author. Bad idea. It would be a shame if, having got so far, an ugly mug proves to be a turn-off.
This is my second post. The first, under the blog system, follows.