The shadow caught my eye. A dark hound lurking through a grainy background. It was menacing, but alluring. The simple title reinforced my interest — “Black Dogs.” I knew of Ian McEwan’s novel, but like most book recommendations, I forgot it twenty minutes after I was told I “had to” read it. But the hound was now in my sights, and I couldn’t tear my eyes from it. I checked out the book and read it in two days. “Black Dogs” is the best novel I’ve read in college. Thank god I judged it by its cover.
The old metaphor “never judge a book by its cover” is built on a flawed premise. We judge book covers, and we are right to do so. Covers are designed to capture our attention and to signal book genre, tone and themes. Because those themes are stronger in better books, they tend to have better covers.
My judgment has never failed. And here’s why.
Book covers aren’t made in a vacuum. Publishing companies have a team of designers and marketers that create and ultimately choose a manuscript’s cover, not the author. These professionals are highly attuned to split-moment inferences people make when they see a book cover.
Penguin Random House, the world’s largest English-language trade book publisher, targets specific audiences depending on a book’s look. There is an entire industry built around creating a lasting impression through a book cover — an industry reliant on judging a book by its cover.
Contemporary literary fiction book covers follow strict trends. The popular unicorn frappuccino and minimalist styles combine similar features to signal their modern-day relevance. Unicorn frappuccino covers — think Brit Bennett’s “The Vanishing Half” — have saturated swirls, wallpaper patterns and white sans serif text. Flat minimalist covers have two-dimensional figures, bright pastel colors and empty space. Conjure up any Sally Rooney cover. All of these books are somehow New York Times bestsellers, and are decent.
Both styles are designed for the social media age, to be spread through Instagram and bought online. Their two-dimensionality and competing colors translate effectively to a screen where they scream for your attention.
Self-help books all look the same (which helps me to reject them instantly). They have clean backgrounds and big, bold, all caps titles that you can see from across the store. The title is often complemented by a brief, functional subheading or a blatant symbol of learning: pencil, apple, classroom doodle. Another effect of the Instagram bastardization of literature is that these books try to be cool by swearing: “The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck,” “Unf*uck Yourself,” “You are a Badass.”
These individualistic manifestos are an underrated culprit for ruining our nation’s politics by destroying the value of the common good (on the left and the right). Instead of pushing us outside of ourselves, all self-help books lead to the myopic ambition of dominating the workplace. Self-help book covers necessarily reveal their cards at first glance. Please avoid them.
Thankfully, we can judge great books from their covers, too. Classics are rightfully treated with care and, over time, gain beautiful covers to match their literary stature.
Evolving covers bring classics through the decades and allow new readers to rediscover great literature. Cover designer and novelist Peter Mendulsund has spoken about the abundant inspiration he finds when designing classics: “There’s one less person who has to approve what I do — that is the author, who doesn’t get a say because they are dead.”
On a more sincere note, I believe the quality of the book shows up on its cover. When a novel has stronger themes, symbols and striking images to draw from, its cover is more memorable. Iron sharpens iron.
Mendulsund himself designed a stunning reinterpretation of Franz Kafka’s body of work. The visual motif of searing eyes captures the paranoia and uncertainty that mark Kafka’s tone. The hand-written font reflects the intimate feel of Kafka’s largely unpublished oeuvre.
Helen Yentus’ Albert Camus covers are striking. The monochromatic, geometric patterns are brooding and detached — a tailor-fit for Camus’ absurdism. Great books draw the focus of creative designers like Mendulsund and Yentus. The love people have for a great novel will inspire an attentive cover for it.
Sometimes, great books get the cover right on the first try. Joan Didion’s “The White Album” and “Slouching Towards Bethlehem” use clever design choices that do a lot with limited variables. They are staples of the Big Book Look, reducing covers to the essentials of title and author on a blank background. The use of distinctive color and warped text makes Didion’s covers memorable despite their simplicity.
Designing a book cover is a rigorous process that is essential to its commercial success. By scoffing at covers, we not only ignore the role they play in defining a book but also the signals they offer readers. Judging a book by its cover is an important component of determining its quality, style and tone if you are attuned to the right clues. Keep your judging eye open, and good reads will follow.
Elias Diwan PO ’25 is from D.C. Not that you will listen, but he does genuinely recommend you read Black Dogs by Ian McEwan.
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