It begins with her reading the book – fiction cover to cover, and non-fiction dipping in and out, letting images and questions come to mind in the hopes of finding a natural starting point (Na does know of some designers who don’t read the book and still do an “amazing” job). But, she says: “I think maybe we don’t talk about how the writer’s style shapes what the books look like, too. The more distinct the voice, the easier it is to create a visual world.” She’s particularly fond of working on Yiyun Li and Sheila Heti’s works because of the uniqueness of their voices. Being able to use style and function as a jumping off point allows Na to break away from creating a “plot driven” cover which ultimately leads to something more “interesting”. Na says: “It’s hard to put it into words, but it’s about narrowing an image down to the essence of what the book is.”
Clearly, so much work goes into creating a good book cover. So rather than rejecting the idea of ‘judging’ at all, maybe we just need to be more considerate about how and why we appreciate and critique covers. Alongside his day-to-day creative work, David founded and runs The Book Cover Review, a website dedicated to giving a space for different voices from across the world to review their favourite book covers in around 500 words – for the appreciation of designers and non-designers alike. His reasons for creating it were many – some broad: he felt it was something missing from the internet, and he wanted “to try and improve on the current level of book design discourse and help provide a deeper understanding of the book design process,” he says. And, on a more personal level, he simply wanted to know what covers were lasting for people, and why.
From Jodi Hunt’s brilliantly incisive review of Bobby Seale’s Seize the Time, to Matt Curtis’ rhythmic reflection on Rob Campbell’s children’s flap book Dear Zoo and Richard Turley’s on-brand ode to Madonna’s metal-bound Sex, the website is a treasure trove of insightful criticism. David is particularly fond of how many of the reviews interrogate the book’s physicality, their “three-dimensional properties”. He says: “Such discussions are fairly non-existent online and I’m often left feeling like a jpeg is the most meaningful conclusion of the book design process.”
Scottish writer and illustrator Alasdair Gray (Poor Things, Lanark) was a strong proponent of the physicality of books. He didn’t only write his books, but illustrated every element, from their covers and titles, to each individual ornate dropcap. For him, books were more than just a house for a story, but objects that held clues and narratives within them too – made to be appreciated and explored, as outlined in this interview with his archivist Sorcha Dallas. The spine of my copy of Lanark is probably the most broken on my bookshelf, because the best way to view the epic Dante’s-Inferno-meets-eighties-Glasgow illustrated montage he’s created in all its glory is by lying the book flat.
Likewise, when I ask Na if she ever buys books for their covers, after saying she no longer does, she quickly backtracks and says that whenever she sees a specific secondhand copy of Zen and The Art of the Motorcycle Maintenance she will always buy it to gift on, because, she says: “there’s something about picking it up, the smaller trim, and the copies are often a little old, so the pages are yellowed against the purpley pink cover. I don’t even know if the design is particularly ‘great’,” she continues, “but it’s just about the overall feeling of it as an object in the world.”