Books and Covers
- matthewparra19
- Jun 22, 2015
- 4 min read

I never really understood the whole “don’t judge a book by its cover” obsession. I think a much more useful saying would be “don’t judge a person by how he or she appears.”
I would be willing to wager the guy who came up with the book saying was from one of the Dakotas. I have many issues with it. For one, judging a book by its cover is often a pretty reliable way to judge a book’s contents. It’s not like I have the time to read every book in the bookstore, cover to cover, and then decide which I like. I need some sort of method for narrowing my search, and judging a book by the cover seems like an efficient solution. Especially if I judge it by the back cover. The back cover provides most of what I need for a well-informed judgment.
Besides, books just aren’t that big of a deal. Why does anyone care so much about books? They don’t deserve a saying. I don’t even think they have feelings. When I judge a book by its cover, no one ever gets hurt. Even if I wrongly judge a book by its cover, what’s the worst that happens? I read three pages of a crappy book and stop. Or maybe deprive myself the chance to read something enlightening and edifying—something I would have enjoyed—and watch 14 hours of Parks and Rec instead. That’s fine. I have no problem with that. My life goes on and no one gets hurt.
"Don’t judge a person by how he or she appears." Just a couple small edits and an aged axiom becomes infinitely more powerful.
If people made the same effort towards not judging other people that they make towards not judging books, it could really change a thing or two. Just imagine. I could see someone poor and not make the judgment he is dumb. I could see someone Asian and not assume she is good at calculus or some acoustic instrument. I could see some kid who is all inked up and has metal puncturing all different parts of his body, and a funny haircut, and I could give him the time to learn he is actually quite respectful and kind. I could see someone with eyebrows that seem to be stuck slanting downward and have an open conversation and find out she is really a sweet and gentle gal. The possibilities are endless—if we could only stop all worrying about judging books and instead started thinking about people. I’m so sick of it. Let’s stop and think about what really matters. I wish the Dakotas just didn’t exist. Who would miss them? It would probably take months for anyone notice they were gone.
I judge people all the time. I have to try very hard not to. It is exhausting. The irony of it is I often judge them by their books. And not just by the books they are reading—because that is all too easy—but by how far along in the book they are.
It sounds ridiculous, but I have really noticed myself doing it. Specifically, I noticed myself doing it at an airport, where all the natural components of the human condition seem to be exposed and magnified. I was looking around at the people with books, and making definite judgments about each person based on how deep he or she was into the book. The length of the book itself was more or less immaterial; it was just the progress that factored into my judgment.
If I saw a woman reading a 300-pager, and she had equal weight of book in each hand, I was impressed. I figured she was well-educated and disciplined, but also knew how to be fun and frivolous. She probably loved her family very well. She probably read casually a few times a week—before bed—just to keep her mind supple and because she genuinely enjoyed it. She might be someone worth having a conversation with.
If a man was any more than three-quarters of the way through a book, I was again quite impressed, but now also a little intimidated. I assumed he was intense, arrogant, and didn’t care as fondly for human interaction. He probably had two more books of similar length in his carry-on, and I was sure he would finish them both by the time his return flight touched down.
If a person was at the early pages of a book, with little more than a cover in his left hand, that person was a stupid person. It required a simple calculation, and this was the answer I derived. I assumed it was the first book the person had thought to read in years, and he was only doing it now out of vanity, to appear erudite for fellow travelers. Maybe he was looking to pick up a lady. I assumed he would never make it past the second chapter. What a fool, just at the beginning of a book. Who does that? What a fraud, I thought.
Just completely illogical. Following my thinking, respectable people and prolific readers never read the beginning of books.
It reminded me how often I fail to realize I am only seeing people in one place of their own long story. I am only seeing where they are in their book right now, but that doesn’t mean they will be there forever, or even for very long. They started at the beginning, like everyone else, and they went page by page. And when they were at the beginning, they were no dumber than they are right now. I wish I could learn to see more than what I am seeing. I wish I could understand that there are stories surrounding what is being presented to me. I’ve been living for a decent amount of time now. How can I still be so blind?
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