Sketches: Little Elf

Sadly, none of the covers in is post will likely see print (though who knows, if the opportunity comes up, I hope to be able to use one of the concepts again). I say "sadly" not because my work on this won't be used — woe is me. — but because when I put a great deal of time and effort into a project, I feel as though I take part ownership (if only a very, very small part), and I want to see it have the very best chance at success. That time-worn adage about a book's cover, there may be some small truth to it -- but it's the cover that, more often than not, intrigues you enough to take the opportunity to judge the book.

In an era where most books are sold via a web browser, and the most you'll see of them before you open the box is a small image of the cover, that cover carries an enormous weight — even more so, I think, than the days when you were able to page through a book to get a general sense of it. And when you have a paperback book that's going to retail for $50 (!), even if it is almost 700 pages, I think that burden becomes even greater.

I say "sadly," because I think if you could see the cover that will be used, who knows, you might be inclined to agree that it falls short in that very basic function. Granted, design can be very subjective, and it's just about a given that not everyone will agree, but the publisher and I pushed for something better — not because we're sure we know better, only because we both wanted the best possible package for this product.

I don't want to get stuck on the politics of all this (and I wouldn't feel entirely comfortable getting into even constructive criticism of someone else's work here), but I did want to make the point (because it came up in the discussions) that none of this was about "ego." I'm proud of my work, of course, but humble enough to know I'm often just as fortunate to have all the pieces come together, as I am skilled. (And they often don't come together without a great deal of trial and error.)

These sketches were put together as an alternative to another cover design, so I was approaching this project with, I guess, somewhat more restrained goals. I felt it might be best to keep the design simple, and the structure reasonably similar to what had already been suggested. But I wanted to make the type more legible and better-thought-out, while still keeping with the era of the book's subject.
I used Cooper Black (hey look, it has it's own Wikipedia page!), which I had also selected for the interior design pages, because it reads well, it's of the era, and it's easy to tinker with to give it a slightly more uneven, hand-drawn quality. (Similar hand-drawn lettering was used on many posters and trade ads in the book. Beautiful stuff.) The other cover had used type that was a shorthand, almost a cliché of type use of the 1920s, and I felt this was among the weakest aspects of the design.

Granted, not everyone would recognize that, because a cliché only becomes a cliché only after people rely on it so much you begin to see it everywhere — but still, I wanted to try for something better. (Type is an acquired skill.)

I did those "safe" versions (with a variation, based on the gold colors used in the original design), and what I referred to as a "far-fetched" version. It was a concept that almost didn't make it past the sketch stage, but I was intrigued by the idea, and wanted to see if I could make it work. I took the opportunity to be a bit more playful with the title, and especially that photo — I like how it draws your attention right to those eyes, that face. I was hesitant because I was afraid this might be too much of an unusual approach for the subject matter, and for the type of reader likely to be interested in a book like this. But hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

(Honestly, it's difficult to imagine another opportunity for me to use this concept — it'd have to be just the right combination of title, image, and subject matter. But at least I can still use it here.)