The saying goes 'never judge a book by its cover'. After 3 years of long-haul-bookstore (just pretend it's pronounced 'book-stall' because that would work better) I can tell you that if I had $1 for everyone who followed this rule I would be exactly where I am now - heavily in debt.
On my birthday I discovered that my latest 10 minute rant (yes there are many) was ill-timed.
'I could never ever read a David Malouf book because the covers turn me off quicker than pineapple on pizza!' I orated. My brother - my captive audience (captive as in physically unable to leave) had unknowingly purchased me a signed copy of Malouf's latest book, 'Ransom'. As a good (and patient) brother he knew that the right thing to do was to completely ignore my groundless grudge and wrap the book in Brown paper, thus hiding the offensive outer shell.
I hate it when siblings are right.
Once safely between the covers I fell in love with Malouf's writing, the beauty of his paragraph's and the slow movement of the story. How could I not previously have experienced this author? Because I was prejudiced (and not in the good old fashioned Jane Austin way). Now, armed with sticky tape and brown paper the bookstore has expanded with so many new and exciting authors who I have previously cast aside. Wally Lamb, you're a marked man.
Might I suggest a retail gimmick - the 'recommended lucky dip', just close your eyes and stick your hand into the big brown box to experience those childhood carnival moments of anticipation. Could we start a new classification 'worthy of the brown cover?'
Post-reading I did peak under that precious paper to glimpse the cover, but now whenever I try to recall what I saw it's all blocked out by this beautiful brown sense of contentment. And that's fine with me.
In the words of the ever wise and knowing sister Maria -
'Brown paper packages tied up in string, these are a few of my favourite things'.
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