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Judging books by their covers,
A Series of Unfortunate Events, as well as My Godsister, Lisa, suggested (not once but twice) that I address the Lemony Snicket phenomenon. With the recent publication of the tenth book in the series, it does seem like an appropriate time to take a good look. Not to mention that doing so would keep me in Lisa’s good graces. So here it goes. The series has a whole lot going for it. First off, the designer actually treats it as a series, which is a little bit more than one can say for the American versions of the Harry Potter books and a lot more than one can say for the various UK versions. And unlike the Harry Potter books, US or UK versions, the illustrations that are the centerpieces of these covers are consistent and, I think, consistently good. The attention to continuity is also reflected in the overall design direction. The books hew to a definite template, but within that template there’s room for a lot of variation of texture, color, and imagery; some elements remain the same from book to book, others shift subtly or greatly. (Even the titles are of a piece: they vary only in the last two words, and those two are always alliterated: Bad Beginning, Reptile Room, and so on, all the way up to the current Slippery Slope. The only inconsistency here is Reptile Room, which is the only title not fitting the adjective-noun convention common to all the other titles. But that has little to do with cover design, so I’m prepared to let it go. This time. At least they don’t go in alphabetical order like Sue Grafton’s.) The most interesting thing, though, is that these aren’t dust jackets — the covers are printed right on the books. Though that’s not unusual for children’s books, I think it’s more often done on picture books, not chapter books aimed at older readers. Overall it just seems like a lot of care has gone into making these books, as though the publisher expects that readers will treasure these books even as they get older — not surprising, as I know a fair share of adults (even ones without children of their own) who love the books, even though they never had them as children. All the more surprising, then, that a couple of things really nag at me about the series. The first is the typography. Sometimes typefaces become so associated with one thing that they’re ruined for pretty much everything else. I’m all for breaking rules when they need to be broken, but every time I stumble across “Everybody Loves Raymond,” I think, What the hell are they doing using the New Yorker’s identity? Even “Frasier,” the logo of which is like the New Yorker but isn’t it exactly, has more of a cultural tie to the magazine. Same thing here. Seen this typeface before?
You bet you have:
It’s Caslon Antique, and if you ask me, the typeface is beautiful but Les Miz cornered the market on it. Not only that, it’s become cheapened by being redone as a freebie that comes along with CorelDraw, though Corel’s version is called Casablanca Antique, which simply hurts my head. And with so many other distressed-looking old typefaces out there, you’d think the designer could have found one that not only isn’t yet overused but would perhaps become known as the Lemony Snicket font that no one else can use without looking derivative. Storm’s Cobra is a nice one. Try that next time you think about using Caslon Antique. If you ask me, Caslon Antique should just be retired, like Reggie Jackson and Wayne Gretzky’s numbers. The other thing is the finish on the book. The background is made to look like the cloth cover one is used to on a hardbound book, but it’s just a picture. Here’s a close-up:
But the finish on the book is a dull satin smooth. After all the care that has obviously gone into the series, it feels a little fake, which is disappointing. I can only hope when the set is repackaged as a whole in the future, they’ll restore real texture to the cover. Judgment: Lisa used to love Les Miz. She may still. I think there may be a connection in there somewhere.
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