This story begins last night.
It begins as most of my nights do: hanging out at home, thinking about my books, feeling restless about my bookshelf.
I slipped each book from its jacket, feeling more energized each time. It was so freeing, so flagrant. And readers...
I fully expected to be dragged, but here's the thing: THE PEOPLE LOVED IT, TOO.
One after another, the support slid into my DMs.
Don't get me wrong, I've got a lot of love for book covers and the designers who create them. But the jacket — it's so bulky. So extra. Always slipping and sliding.
(Honestly, if I really had my druthers, I'd want all paperbacks — but that is an argument for another day.)
Anyway, the whole thing got me thinking: Are all of the dust jacket haters being shamed into silence??
@Softwarmground: I'd watch.
Now, to answer some questions:
1. I tossed *most* of the covers, before thanking them as Marie Kondo taught me. I saved some faves to frame.
2. No, I'm not worried about book upkeep, because, as Michelle Dean wrote in a wonderful anti–dust jacket essay in Flavorwire: "Dust happens, it’s a fact of life, no crappy piece of paper can stand in its way, the end."
3. No, I'm not worried about them looking a mess. Nothing makes me happier than a well-worn book. (And, anyway, my cats loved eating the corners of dust jackets whenever they were mad at me for something.)