Once in a while I pick up a book solely because of the author. I’ve read a book by that author before, loved it and decided to just go ahead and read whatever comes next. That’s how it went for Pirouette. Besides knowing that this book revolves around dance (I mean, duh, the title and…
Last week there was this interesting opinion piece in the SundayReview of The New York Times, Scribbling in the Margins. The writer, Andrew D. Scrimgeour argued that readers writing in their books is the greatest tribute to authors.
Truth be told, I picked up Origin only because I saw the cover of Vitro, which I thought was gorgeous. I loved it the moment I laid my eyes on it and when I learnt that it’s the second book in the series, I decided I had to read the first, so I would have a reason to hold the pretty white cover with the test-tube that contains clear blue seawater and and island. Shallow, maybe. But what does it matter if a cover makes me pick up a book?
The first day of Chinese New Year was on Friday.
Here is something that irks me: book cover quotes. They are superfluous and more often than not end up getting a rise out of me instead of selling me my next read.