To Judge a Book--or--Avery is a Terrible Person

Most people have been told--at some point in their lives--not to judge a book by its cover. Whether the context is literal or figurative, the saying is rather familiar. Though I try my very best to refrain from judging books by their outer shell, I cannot say that I have been entirely victorious in that regard. You see, I have this nasty habit of judging books by their titles. For instance: I absolutely refused to read Libba Bray's book, Rebel Angels, because I considered the title to be absolutely awful*. I'd truly enjoyed the first book in the series(which happens to have an awesome title), but I just couldn't (initially) bring myself to read the second, because somewhere in my mind I feared that the book wouldn't be very good...because of its title. How very stupid of me.

The Sweet Far Thing came out. Then I realised that I really wanted to know what was going to happen to Gemma Doyle. And of course would have been absolutey inexcusable sin (For which I would be condemned to Special Hell...I simply would not be able to endure eternity with people who talk at the theatre. [Any Browncoats in the audience tonight...?] ) to skip the middle book and read the last. Not to mention it would be incredibly silly to never read a book that I wanted to read, merely becaused I hated the title. So I read it. And it was excellent. I loved it. (So much so that when Aislinn forgot to lend me her copy of The Sweet Far Thing, I rushed off to the bookshop to purchase it myself.)

So, as indicated by the title of this post, I feel like a terrible person. The fact that I judged something so hastily makes me hang my head in shame. Especially since I know that I'll likely do it again. Also, I do believe that it was I who eagerly pushed a copy of the first book in the series, A Great and Terrible Beauty, into Aislinn hands, ordering her to read. It shames me that she beat me to reading the final one...and to reviewing it. But that's another, more trivial matter entirely. The point is (Yes, there is a moral to the story. Please don't kill me.) that though it is sometimes awfully tempting to run for the hills when a badly titled book presents itself, I am beginning to see the error of my ways. And I hope that you, dear reader, shall learn from my mistakes. After all, beauty is found within (Ha! I have ended my post cheesily! This makes me happy!)

As always, learning...


*Meaning no disrespect to the author. Libba Bray is made of awesome! And the title makes more sense to me now that I've read the book.