Quite Possibly the Greatest Article Yet Written About the Publishing Industry
Or, How to Hype a Bad Book
Reviewers, of all people, are not supposed to judge a book by its cover, but of course we do. With tens of thousands of titles gushing forth from publishers annually, we seize every tip-off that a title can be safely tossed on the reject pile. If the author's name is spelled out in huge, raised red foil letters -- out! If the cover features a large, virulently romantic image of a flower -- out! If the title is a terse, two-word legal term emblazoned over a fuzzy image of an unidentifiable body part -- out!
In the struggle to be noticed, book publicists and copywriters try even harder to snag the attention of book reviewers, sellers and readers. The descriptions of forthcoming titles in publishers' catalogs (geared toward the trade) and on the inside flaps of dust jackets (called "flap copy" and intended to woo the hoi polloi) often seethe with desperate overstatement. They remind one of panhandlers on New York subways, who not only concoct elaborate and piteous tales of misfortune (usually involving AIDS), but also adopt a high-pitched, whining, sing-song tone of voice that one would give anything to silence.
"There are few female figures in literature as riveting as the precocious nine-year-old Magda Denes who narrates this story," the W.W. Norton catalog informs us, regarding the memoir "Castles Burning." Really? With all due respect to Ms. Denes, I doubt that she rivals Jane Eyre, Harriet the Spy or Tolstoy's Natasha. "Powerfully moving and relentlessly suspenseful, 'The Messiah Stones' is a tale of human spirit that offers both profound personal insights and a stunning message for the millennium," Fawcett's catalog rhapsodizes. In fact, "Not since 'The Celestine Prophecy' has there been such an inspiring spiritual lesson in the guise of a riveting novel."
Character descriptions, frantic to hook our flagging attention, shriek with tabloid melodrama and sound like the ravings of a speed freak. From Stephen J. Cannell's "Final Victim": "Leonard Land is a seven-foot-tall, completely hairless computer genius, wired to the cyberpunk subculture of Death Metal and Satan worship. He is also a twisted, multipersonality maniac who is systematically murdering women. When he is The Rat, he is smart and cunning; when he becomes The Wind Minstrel, he is God and the Devil." Whew! Just reading that one makes me want to lie down with a cool cloth over my face.
Occasionally the cover art and the flap copy contradict each other. The flap of J. Gregory Keyes' "The Waterborn" maintains that, "Once in a generation, there comes a story so resonant, a tale so remarkable, that it breaks new ground and opens new vistas of imagination. 'The Waterborn' is a triumph, an astonishing first novel from a truly gifted artist." Sounds like "Gravity's Rainbow" or "Beloved," right? Why then does the cover depict a naked, buxom female covered in black fur with a snarling, demonic face and deer antlers, astride a saber-toothed tiger and engaged in a pitched battle with a Native American wielding an Arthurian sword?
Nothing, however can equal the over-the-top promo lavished on "Dark Debts," penned by Karen Hall -- "a superstar among television writers, the only woman ever to work on the staffs of 'M*A*S*H' and 'Hill Street Blues.'" This one combines it all: rabid, sweeping hyperbole ("Every few years, a book bursts onto the scene that captures the imagination so powerfully and singularly that it takes on its own life in the minds of millions of readers"); a queasy attempt to push every genre button ("masterfully combines horror, southern gothic, romantic comedy, and theological mystery in the form of a supernatural thriller"); and character profiles that sound like the products of a fever dream.
We have, first and foremost, "Michael, a hunky Jesuit priest who performs exorcisms and is exiled to a small Georgia parish," where he nevertheless manages to enjoy "an affair with a beautiful New Yorker editor." Meanwhile, "acclaimed, reclusive author Cam Landry leaps to his death after murdering a liquor store clerk in L.A., raising questions about a cursed family." And if that's not enough, we have "Randa, an obsessive newspaper reporter" and last but not least, "Jack, a lost soul who meets the love of his life just as he realizes he's losing his mind."
I know just how he feels. Perhaps Jack read this book, which promises to "give readers nightmares and fantasies, provoke fear and laughter, inspire doubt and faith." It's enough to drive anyone mad.
