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October 22, 2014
Sometimes a cover comes together in a snap: A concept emerges right away, or you find just the right image, or you are working with someone like Eduardo Recife, who can come up with the perfect yet unexpected cover on the spot.
And then other times, as was the case with the cover for Sarah Diamond’s In the Spider’s House (due out next year) it’s endless iterations where nothing seems quite right.
We started here, with variations on the original British edition:
Then we came up with the idea of having the protagonist look in the mirror and see the child whose story she is becoming obsessed with.
Unsatisfied, we veered in a completely different direction:
And even went sort of horror:
From this latest version we ended up preserving the spidery font, which is in fact an Eduardo Recife designed font called “disgusting behavior” (love that name!).
But we still wanted the cover to convey something of the doubling of writer and research subject, the sense of increasing identification between the two, and so we kept coming back to the mirror and the little girl reflected there. Somewhere in the process we came back to the idea of a split cover, with the lower and upper halves (above and below the author band) being different images, and the lower image stuck, but we were still not happy with the upper image.
And then we realized we had to make the little girl a little less angelic, to depart from the physical description provided in the novel. And there we were.
What do you think?
October 20, 2014
It’s probably a good thing I’m not a physicist. Well, given how lousy I am at math, it’s a very good thing. But what I was thinking of was the tendency for physicists to slide down intellectual rabbit-holes, increasingly in thrall to the lure of the ToE – in science-land, that refers to the holy grail, the ultimate prize, the Theory of Everything.
I have never had quite the arrogance to imagine that I could discover the Big Toe, but I do love the hunt for patterns, the sense of stumbling, almost by accident, through the gates of a larger game than I knew was being played. I’ve mentioned before that as a mystery reader, my secret trashy passion is for conspiracy thrillers, yarns in which characters discover, sometimes too late, that they have merely been disposable pawns in someone else’s chess match, and that what they have viewed as simple coincidence has, all too often, been determined and laid down long ago.
I’m thinking of this because of one name that has of late cropped up – more than once – on my radar screen: George Orwell. The folks at Amazon are no doubt painfully familiar with Mr. Orwell’s name by now: They sought to invoke it to bolster their position in their ongoing dispute with Hachette, only to learn that, in fact, Orwell was saying exactly the opposite of what they had believed.
Taking a break from the news about Amazonian doings, I have been re-reading an old Robert Goddard novel set in part during the Spanish Civil War. And whose name should jump off the page but Mr. Orwell’s: His Homage to Catalonia is referenced, in the novel, in a ransom demand.
As any lover of conspiracy theories could tell you, that much Orwell is beyond coincidence; it is clearly some sort of message, some kind of coded instruction. And who am I to disobey? It was obvious to me that I was intended to offer a discount this week on something having to do with Orwell.
Orwell’s books themselves were clearly out of the question: If we had the rights to publish them and sell them, I’d be a richer and happier woman. But we do have a book – a wonderful conspiracy thriller, as it happens – in which Mr. Orwell makes an appearance of sorts. Death of a Dormouse, by Reginald Hill, is probably one of the maestro’s lesser-known titles. It’s not part of the “Pascoe and Dalziel” series, for which he was justly famous, and its protagonist is a depressed middle-aged woman – about as far from glamorous or buzz-worthy as it’s possible for a character to get. But Hill happens to have been astonishingly good at female characters, perhaps particularly good at those who for one reason or another are not considered shag-worthy. He doesn’t pity them or condescend to them or sneer at them or put them on pedestals, but renders them with an absolutely awesome clarity. And in that clear, cold light, Trudi Adamson – the dormouse – is revealed as a true heroine. If the universe is indeed sending a message, I will be very happy to be directed to spend more time – and to encourage you to spend time – with Trudi. She’s a good reminder of the fierceness that lurks within us all, waiting for circumstance to force us to find it. And this week only, that reminder’s going cheap: 25% off on Death of a Dormouse.
October 14, 2014
Lyricists, they’ll do anything for a rhyme. Because the truth is, nobody likes New York in June. New York in June is both A) too darn hot, and B) a sweltering reminder that right around the corner lurks August, when New York does its annual impersonation of Mumbai.
No, Autumn is New York’s season – back to school, back to work, orchestras tuning up, Broadway starting to buzz. On the perfect day in October, the air here is crisp and heady as white wine, you can taste excitement on your tongue.
And yet, running beneath it all, like a secret river, is the season’s melancholy. That’s hardly unique to New York: leaves die everywhere. But I’ve been binging on old episodes of “Mad Man” this week, that series that – better than almost anything I know – illustrates how much of my beloved city’s thrill is fueled by fear and loneliness. It’s as though sadness is the black against which the city’s lights can sparkle.
So the theme of the week is contrasts, the way they highlight and reinforce one another. And the author of the week, then, is Canada’s LR Wright, who in 1986 blew onto the U.S. mystery scene like an unexpected storm, and blew away the critics with her first mystery novel. The Suspect went on to win the Edgar award for Best Mystery of the Year – beating out titles by Ruth Rendell, Jonathan Kellerman, and Stuart Kaminsky, among other notables. Like most of the books in Wright’s “Karl Alberg” series (nine altogether), The Suspect is set on British Columbia’s glorious “Sunshine Coast,” famous for its gorgeous gardens. And like all the books in the series, The Suspect centers on the dark secrets that huddle beneath those lovely blooms. It is a masterpiece of psychological suspense.
The Suspect, is on sale, then, but we’re also offering up No. 3 in the series, A Chill Rain in January. If you look at the cover, you’ll see that it shows a stunningly beautiful day. Blue sky, golden sun, fluffy clouds. And in the middle is a pretty little blonde girl. When I told our art director what kind of image I wanted, he was confused: “A beautiful day?” he asked. “What about the rain? What about January.”
“It’s the girl,” I said. “She’s the chilly, chilly rain.”