It wasn’t only the content of ‘Living Rights’ that proved to be thought provoking, there was also the cover design.  I may be alone in finding all that follows here a new insight, but in case I’m not, I’d like to discuss what I’ve discovered (and if I am, why didn’t anybody tell me?).

When I opened the package that contained the book my first impression was of a small burst of sunshine - the design is dominated by a series of concentric rings in bright yellows and oranges, against a white and yellow background on the front and a flame red background on the back.  I found it appealing and uplifting; a cheerful, hopeful book, in spite of the pain and suffering that I was just about to discover within its pages.

I had requested this review copy based on what I had seen previewed as its content, so I would have been reading it in any case, but I am not unusual in being attracted or repelled by a book’s cover. However, rarely has a cover intrigued me so much that I wanted to ask the designer ‘what does it mean?’  Most designs explain themselves sufficiently (more later on this italicising) either by the genre, title or contents of the book, or by publisher’s ethos (as in the Virago covers for example) or by the individual author’s ‘identifier’ (as in the case of the striking black and white covers that present Iain Banks’ literary fiction (a marvellous irony here considering the subtleties and complexities of his plots, characters and prose).  But with the ‘Living Rights’ cover, I just could not work out what was represented by the scatterings of male and female symbols across and outside of the rings, nor the digitalised numbers that accompanied those symbols. 

I emailed the publisher with ‘what does it mean?’  When I read his reply I could see immediately just what he meant: that for him the globe represents both the earth and the sun; the figures and male/female symbols represent individual populations and/or co-ordinates on the earth; that although we are all divided into different sub-categories upon the planet, we are all equal as inhabitants of the earth (and the gaze of the sun) and should be equal to human rights’ protection.  But, the publisher told me, this was his interpretation and not necessarily the designer’s, and would I like to contact the designer himself to find out.

So I emailed Anthony La Pusata and asked ‘what does it mean?’ His reply: ‘The yellow rings represent a core, a source of warmth and life similar to how the sun gives life and warmth to earth, flourishing the human race. A human race that, in this case, is less considered as individual and equal people but more commonly as a number. Therefore the number next to the male and female icons can be freely interpreted as their i.d., similar to a barcode for a product that like so many other products, is/can be used and mistreated by other people. Therefore, these icons represent people in need of Human Rights protection.’

Yes, I saw that too.

I was finding the whole discussion about the design quite fascinating, and I was making a mental note to do a lot more of this asking publishers and designers what their covers represented, when I was reminded of some things I’d read in the also fascinating ‘Art Objects – Essays on Ecstasy and Effrontery’’ by Jeanette Winterson.

The first thing I remembered was ‘Art takes time. To spend an hour looking at a painting is difficult. The public gallery experience is one that encourages art at a trot.’  It begged the question ‘And how much faster than in an art gallery do I, as writer and voracious reader, trot through a piece of art that is wrapped around the literary treasures and pleasures I believe are waiting patiently for me inside, even when it’s the cover that’s attracted me to the book in the first place?’

Secondly came – ‘the true artist is interested in the art object as an art process, the thing in being, the being of the thing, the struggle, the excitement, the energy, that have found expression in a particular way.’  Perhaps then, to spend more time reflecting on the art is to explore the process itself and gain insight into the steps of the journey rather than just the final destination.  Perhaps deeper reflection will help to avoid unintentionally glib and instant interpretations, so that we can work it out for ourselves.  (And after all, not everyone has the time or resources to make interpretive enquiries, and not all publishers and designers can or will be as generous with their time as Flame and Anthony La Pusata.)

My third recollection from Winterson surfaced –  ‘the only way into a piece of literature is through the front door’.  All those opportunities for aesthetic and imaginative experiences I was missing because I was in a rush to get across the threshold!

There is an unavoidable response to all of the above, and that is to point to the design shorthand that is commonly employed to identify a book as a commercial product rather than as a piece of art. The shorthand that uses pinkie-purplie-cartoonie for chick-lit, golden dragons for oriental tales, melodramatic gold wording on dense black for gothic, etc etc …  But still, even amongst the shorthand there is the occasional treasure to be found.

And there are further exceptions.  With the increasing rise of the status and significance of the independent presses (which I’m sure must quantitatively be happening, when it qualitatively feels so much to be happening …) I think that there’ll be all the more reason to look out for the interesting art that will accompany the emerging wider ranges of our literature.

I have been book reviewing for four years now, but I can’t think of a single occasion when I have credited the cover designer in the ‘opening credits’.  I hope in the future, whenever I find what is for me significant art, to do just that.

As a rider, and from the perspective of ‘whimsy’, – I took a little spin across the ww web to see what might be caught there as regards cover art, and the results of even that short journey were most interesting.  In summary, I found:

art work covers for sale independently of their books (including Pratchett covers, Hemingway’s ‘The Old Man and the Sea’,  The Dandy Book Front Cover, Kipling’s ‘The Jungle Book’);

‘Adventures in Collecting’, which explores the significance and history of cover collecting and illustrates the discussion with the various ‘Anne of Green Gables’ covers; this is to be found at the address below and is more interesting than you might think: http://lmm.confederationcentre.com/enlish/covers/covers;

‘Judge a Book by its Cover’, Spread the Word’s third annual writing competition (We asked entrants to judge a book by its cover and fill the pages that were sandwiched inside an imaginary book jacket); to be found at: www.spreadtheword.org.uk;

the Book Covering Party – where you take a book cover that you loathe, (or a damaged cover), read the book, then design and create your own cover (Family Fun online – I’ve mislaid the exact source);

and best of all, ‘Judging a book by its cover’ – monthly reviews of the covers of newly published books, ‘with an eye towards covers that are subject to some sort of active design consideration’, written by Sharon Adarlo at www.bookslut.com; Ms Adarlo is detailed, informative and damned entertaining; the website itself is ‘a monthly web magazine and daily blog dedicated to those who read news, reviews, commentary, insights and opinions.  They’re not joking when they say ‘We love books with an almost sexual passion’.

by Fi Benson