THE COLOR PROJECT

I beta read THE COLOR PROJECT for Sierra Abrams a while ago, and it was amazing. Amazing, I tell you. Since then, Sierra has decided to publish it non-traditionally (*cue incoherent screaming*). On Saturday, she posted the cover reveal, and oh my goodness, I’m trying not to drool. 

Without any further ado, here it is: 

*attempts to regain composure* 

Here’s the Goodreads description: 

Bernice Aurora Wescott has one thing she doesn't want anyone to know: her name. That is, until Bee meets Levi, the local golden boy who runs a charity organization called The Color Project.

Levi is not at all shy about attempting to guess Bee’s real name; his persistence is one of the many reasons why Bee falls for him. But while Levi is everything she never knew she needed, giving up her name would feel like a stamp on forever. And that terrifies her.

When unexpected news of an illness in the family drains Bee's summer of everything bright, she is pushed to the breaking point. Losing herself in The Color Project—a world of weddings, funerals, cancer patients, and hopeful families that the charity funds—is no longer enough. Bee must hold up the weight of her family, but to do that, she needs Levi. She’ll have to give up her name and let him in completely or lose the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

For fans of Stephanie Perkins and Morgan Matson, THE COLOR PROJECT is a story about the three great loves of life—family, friendship, and romance—and the bonds that withstand tragedy.

As of right now, the publication date is set for July 18, 2017, and Sierra hopes to have a pre-order link up soon. In the meantime, you can add it on Goodreads, stare at the pretty cover, and try to figure out ways to time travel. 

Lastly, in case you don’t have money to throw at books right and left, now’s your chance to win a pre-order of THE COLOR PROJECT! 

What about you, my little coffee beans? Have you heard of THE COLOR PROJECT? Are you planning to read it? What are some non-traditionally published projects you've enjoyed? 

Bookish Discussion #3 // Cover Love

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Last week, I spent a couple days discussing bookish aesthetics and why I don’t think it’s okay to judge people who are concerned with the way their books look. (You can find the links here and here.) But today, I’d like to talk a bit more about the importance of nice book covers. 

Let’s say you’re in a well-stocked bookstore, and you’re just browsing, hoping something wonderful will catch your eye. It stands to reason that it’s in the publisher’s best interest to provide books that do just that. Granted, an ugly book could be a thousand times deeper and more interesting than the gorgeous hardcover displayed next to it. But let’s face it, there are so many books out there, and you’re not going to be able to read them all (GASP). Which is why it’s nice to have a system that helps you choose which books are worth your time. 

So, without any further ado, let’s talk about some book covers and designs that do their jobs well. 

ILLUMINAE

ILLUMINAE is a prime example, not only because the cover is gorgeous, but because the insides are gorgeous as well. Just by flipping through a couple pages, you can tell the book took a great deal of time and effort to design. Of course, the insides could still be rubbish, and you wouldn't know that until you read it, but hopefully the design conveys that the publishers at least thought the story was something special. Had it looked like it had been thrown together at the last minute, you might come away feeling uneasy, and perhaps you’d be a little slower to buy it. As I've said before, a publisher that doesn’t seem to care about the outward product might also not care too much about the story itself. Hopefully you would love it anyway, regardless of its exterior, but you have to want to pick it up first. 

INSURGENT

I do intend to discuss the whole DIVERGENT trilogy at a later date, maybe in a month or two. For now, I just want to say that I vastly enjoyed INSURGENT the first time I read it, but found myself a little disappointed when I reread it. Even so, every time I see it on my shelves (which is every day), I get the urge to reread it because the cover is insanely beautiful and atmospheric. True, the cover doesn’t make the story any better. But it does improve my reading experience, and it ensures that I will give the book at least a third, or fourth, or fifth chance (I reread a lot). 

ANNA DRESSED IN BLOOD

Covers are always a matter of personal taste. What looks wonderful to me might not look so great to you, and vice versa. Some people love covers that feature girls in dresses, for instance, but as a general rule, I’m not a huge fan of that design format. To me—and this is just my opinion, so take it or leave it—those sorts of covers don’t convey much about the story they’re representing. In fact, they seem like the easy way out, like the cover artists didn’t have enough time, ideas, or money. Or maybe they just didn’t care enough. Either way, it looks like they chose something easy and generic—attractive, usually, but not special. However, ANNA DRESSED IN BLOOD is a notable exception. 

Because Anna’s outfit plays such a huge role in the story (in case you hadn’t gathered that from the title), the dress is relevant to the plot. But there is also detail beyond just the girl and the dress, and that helps set the mood even further. For instance, we have the blood dripping off the hem of the dress and down her legs, and we have the whole vintage feel going on. We can see a thick ground fog in the foreground, and a haunted-looking house in the background. Bits of torn red ribbon (at least, I think it's ribbon) provide accent and visual interest. Even Anna’s posture communicates a great deal. Added together, all these elements set the tone of the story. We know we’re going to be reading something creepy, dark, and atmospheric, but also a touch whimsical, romantic, and sad. Ultimately, the cover is one of the reasons why I bumped ANNA DRESSED IN BLOOD up on my book-buying priority list. 

Yes, book covers aren’t necessarily indicative of the story’s worth or the author’s skill, and it’s possible that focusing too much on lovely book covers can lead you to miss out on some wonderful literary gems. But with so many stories to read, and so little money to spend on them, I prefer to library the ugly books and buy only the books with covers that delight my heart. And that brings me to my next discussion topic, library vs. ownership, which I’ll be discussing on Wednesday. 

In the meantime, here are some random book covers for you to analyze (if you’d like to). I’d love to know what you think of them, what emotions/thoughts you think they convey, and whether they would have any impact on your book buying decisions. 

  

  

Well, that’s it for today, little coffee beans. What are some book covers that make you go all grabbyhands? What are some book covers that do the opposite? How do you decide which books to buy and which books to borrow? What are some of your favorite book covers, and why? 

Bookish Discussion #2 // Bookish Aesthetics

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In case you missed my first Bookish Discussion, let me just catch you up a little. On Wednesday, I referenced a video (which you can find here), that summed up of some attitudes in the bookish community that have been bothering me. Now, I do recommend that you watch the video to get both sides of the argument, because I don’t believe this BookTuber shouldn’t have said what she said or that she is dumb or anything like that. Of all the BookTubers who shared similar sentiments, hers is the politest, most intelligent representative. But the main point I want to address here, that was referenced in her video more nicely than it was in most other places, is the idea that BookTubers and book bloggers who are concerned with the aesthetics of their books are too looks-oriented. 

So, first of all, let’s talk about used books. Plenty of readers prefer used books over new books because they have character and because they have more story to them than their newer counterparts. They’ve been read, reread, annotated, dog-eared, stained, loved. To many readers, the lives these books experienced before reaching their hands is just as fascinating as the books themselves, and it makes those books treasures. They are valuable, like aged cheese. (Blogging rule #127: When in doubt, include a comparison to food.) Not only that, but used books are often cheaper. 

And you know what? I see nothing wrong with enjoying or even preferring secondhand books. If those bring you loads of happiness, then that is wonderful. But while I don’t hate used books, they don’t bring me loads of happiness, and there’s nothing wrong with that, either. 

When I was younger, I tried so hard to get into the mindset that it was foolish to pay more money for new books when you could simply buy used. After all, I didn’t have much money to work with in the first place. I tried to convince myself that it was stupid to care so much about whether or not the spine of a book was cracked or if the cover got creased. I got angry at myself for crying when I lent out my books only to have them come back worse for the wear—dirty, ratty, water-damaged—and I told myself it was silly to contemplate replacing them with my hard-earned money just so I could have new-looking copies again. I told myself it was selfish not to want to lend them out just because I didn’t like them getting damaged, and I told myself it wasn’t fair to ask people to be super careful with them. It wasn’t fair to get upset when they didn’t treat them as well as I did. I thought there was something wrong with me because damaged books took away the joy of reading. 

And then, after a few years, it hit me. That is my personality type. I was wired to keep a neat, orderly collection—to crave cleanness and newness. I was wired to love the beauty of a pristine book. I wasn’t wired to love well-worn paperbacks, and it wasn’t fair for people to ask me to change my own personal preferences simply because they didn’t understand or share them. Just because my books are in perfect condition, doesn’t make them any less loved. In fact, when I love a story, I show my respect and affection for it by taking care of the book. Just because I love my books differently than others doesn’t make my methods any less legitimate. 

So let’s break down the way my brain works, starting at the superficial and going deeper. 

To me, new books just look so much better. I get a rush of happiness when I see all the shiny, new books while shopping in Barnes & Noble, and I like getting that same rush from seeing my Barnes & Noble-esque bookshelves. 

I have found that the more effort I put into keeping the shelves in my room aesthetically pleasing, the more my room feels like a haven. Some people visit museums or art collections in order to center themselves and reduce tension. Well, my books are my own private art collection, and I treat them accordingly. Where some people might hang paintings, I display the books I find particularly attractive. They are my decorations, and to assume that the inside of a book is the only form of art involved is to miss the art of the exterior. I handle my books carefully, to make sure that the art I love doesn’t get destroyed or defaced. After all, you wouldn’t shove your favorite painting into your backpack, or touch it with greasy fingers, or fold it down the middle (at least, I hope you wouldn’t). I value books like I would value a Van Gogh, and so I treat them accordingly. And I bet it’s similar for other bookworms who prefer keeping their books in good condition. (However, if your preferred art form is a battered book, than that is your prerogative, and we can live in peace, provided we respect each other’s personal styles.) 

Another, very personal reason for keeping my books in good condition is this: A lot of traumatic things happened to me when I was a child, and often books were the only safe place my younger self could find. Sometimes the only control I had in my life was the way I treated my books. I might not have been able to prevent myself from losing my home, friends, and possessions twice, I might not have been able to keep my church body from ripping apart, and I might not have been able to stop all the other bad stuff from happening to me, but I could at least make sure bad stuff didn’t happen to my books. To this day, books are still my haven, and I like to keep my safe place untarnished. If you have not experienced a difficult childhood and needed a safe place of small control like that, I don’t fault you for not understanding where I’m coming from. But lack of comprehension doesn’t make it okay to judge. 

My last major reason for taking good care of my books is more on the practical side. Let’s face it, books cost money (I know, I was shocked to learn that, too). There are so many books out there that I would love to buy, but I only have so much money to spend on them. I would rather not burn through cash replacing books I’ve worn out. Instead, I would rather make sure the copies I have last for a good long while so I can focus on growing my personal library. 

In the end, it all boils down to individual preference, and neither choice of style is wrong. It’s not wrong to like pretty things, and it’s not wrong to not care as much about pretty things. Granted, yes, some people take it too far and focus so much on the exterior of their books that they forget why books are valuable in the first place. But I would recommend withholding judgment until you truly know a person, or you run the danger of focusing too much on that person’s exterior (their outward behavior) and too little on their heart. And wouldn’t it be nice if we could just all respect and appreciate each other for our differences, even if we don’t understand life on the others side of the fence? 

What about you, my little coffee beans? Are you cool with lending out your books? Have you had any bad experiences from lending out books in the past? Do you prefer used books or new? Are you extra careful with your papery darlings, or do you not mind if they get roughed up a little?

Bookish Discussion #1 // Judging a Book...

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Note: I realize I’m quite behind on commenting on blogs and answering comments on mine. I'm so sorry about that. Rest assured, I haven’t forgotten any of you, and I will try to catch up over the next few weeks. In the meantime, please bear with me. 

For the next few days I figured I would tackle some topics I’ve been meaning to discuss for a while but haven’t felt entirely confident addressing. If you’ve been reading my blog over the past month or so, you’ll know that I started following a bunch of BookTubers because I figured it was about time I got a feel for that sort of culture. But a little while ago, I encountered a corner of BookTube that had been “calling out” vloggers who are concerned with the aesthetics of the books they buy (these videos would have been filmed about a year ago). One vlogger, especially, argued that buying books based on cover love—as well as avoiding ugly editions and used books—is shallow. She also expressed confusion about why vloggers don’t feature many library books in their videos, and why buying books is such a huge fixation in that culture. 

Please don’t get me wrong. It’s perfectly okay if you just don’t understand people like me who like buying nice books and keeping them in good condition. But it does genuinely bug me when people imply my bookish habits make me shallow, so I figured I would speak up about my own point of view. (If you've read my blog long enough, you may have noticed that I love inserting unsolicited opinions into the mix.) 

Today we’re tackling cover love. (And, in case you’re interested in my plan for the next few posts, I’lll be talking a bit more about bookish aesthetics on Friday, analyzing some book covers on Monday, and broaching the subject of libraries vs. ownership next Wednesday, if all goes well.) 

Traditionally published authors rarely get much say in what their book covers look like. Of course, there are exceptions to the rule. Some writers—like Stephenie Meyer and Michelle Hodkin—get to offer varying degrees of input on their cover designs. Usually, though, the piece of art that represents a story to the world at large has nothing to do with the author’s vision or desires. 

Because authors don’t often get to pick their cover art and all that fun stuff, it doesn’t seem fair that my decision whether or not to read a book should hinge on something so superficial and seemingly irrelevant. “A story is a story,” people argue. “The book is the words and the thoughts conveyed, not the pages and the pretty picture. It’s so shallow to avoid ugly or second-hand books just because they don’t look good. You silly person.” 

Hold your horses. I shall explain myself. 

One reason why ugly covers can be a big turn-off is that cover artists are supposed to convey the feel of the book. If I don’t like the emotions or thoughts conveyed by the cover, that could be a good indication I won’t like the emotions or thoughts conveyed in the book. Of course that’s not always the case, but it is possible, so it’s something I take into consideration. Additionally, if a cover is tacky or shoddily done, I do have to wonder how much faith the publisher (and the artists by extension) had in the book, and how much time and money they were willing to invest in making quality cover art. If they don’t seem to have put that much stock in their own book, I’m naturally going to be a little leery. 

Perhaps you don’t find that reason sufficiently satisfying. “That’s based on guesswork and subjectivity,” you argue. To which I say, “Fair enough. Let’s try something more personal.”

I have synesthesia, which means something that triggers a single sensory response in a normal brain triggers multiple sensory responses in mine. (I’ve mentioned before that I see letters, numbers, and words as having color. That is just one manifestation of synesthesia.) Many people don’t hugely care about their book covers because those are completely separate from their reading experiences. They may not find a cover particularly attractive, but they don’t consider it detrimental to their enjoyment. This is, by far, not the case for me. While reading, my mind automatically equates the color, design, and texture of the physical book with the story itself. This means that, when you mention INSURGENT, you think INSURGENT, but I think INSURGENT. (Putting it that way is overly simplistic, but I'm not sure how else to convey the thought—sorry.) For me, the aesthetics of the physical book are a strong part of the story itself, and I cannot separate the two in my head. The cover is the book and the book is the cover. Both the superficial and the tangible matter equally to me. This isn’t an indication of how shallow or deep a person I am—it’s simply how my brain is wired. 

If a book is absolutely fabulous, an ugly cover can still mar my reading experience, as hard as I try to keep the insides and the outsides separate in my mind. In the same vein, cover redesigns bother me because, once the color and texture of the story have been set in my head, no other edition feels like the right fit. This is the main reason why I spend more money and more time buying books selectively to make sure I get attractive editions, and this is why I am more likely to be forgiving of lesser books if they have great covers. This is also why I’m a little leery of libraries, but I’ll go into that more next Wednesday. 

If my reasoning makes me seem even more shallow and superficial than I did before you read this, oh well. I tried. Have fun judging me. In the meantime, I’ll just be sitting here, stroking my gorgeous bookish darlings. Enjoy your jealousy, and don’t forget to come back on Friday for further discussion on bookish aesthetics. 

Well, that’s it for today, little coffee beans. What are your thoughts on cover love? Do you prefer attractive books? If your answer is yes, what are some of your reasons? Do you not care what your books look like? If so, why? What are some attitudes in the blogosphere or the BookTubesphere (I don’t think that’s the right word, but I don’t know what else to call it) that bother you?