Copyright HarperCollins Publishers 2009
In this series, we judge a book by its cover. Only by its cover.
There aren’t many books on the New Releases shelf of Barnes and Noble that make me quite as, well, thirsty as does “B is for Beer” by Tom Robbins. Sure, the glass mug depicted is merely a playful illustration, but there are the oh-so-perfectly round bubbles on the head, rolling over the rim in a tantalizing cascade of refreshing drops, nearing the yearning crowd below and their outstretched hands and — oh right, this is just a book.
The cover definitely grabs attention, but that’s perhaps owed to the familiar golden glow of a pale lager. It’s just so … collegiate and damned American. The cover plays heavily on nostalgia, working the entire space into a children’s story theme. The “B” from the title is a friendly red block and the overall feel maintains the simplicity of those easier days called childhood.
Though I entertain the belief that I’m on the more mature side of the targeted audiences (grown-ups and children), it’s beyond me whether the book is actually serious when it advertises “A Grown-up Book for Children.” At what age is it socially acceptable to introduce kids to subtle blends of hops and malt? When we were young, the frequent Budweiser in my father’s hand fascinated my brother, but one accidental sip on my part kept me away from the stuff. It wasn’t until years later when I discovered drinking games and the cost per volume advantage that I acquired the taste. Now I’m always seeking to further my beer education — convenient, since that’s the usual implication in the “[insert alphabet letter here] is for — ” pattern. Really though, when is a simple lesson in the mysteries of beer not a good idea?
Opposite from the first, the other subtitle, “Children’s Book for Grown-ups,” seems a surer bet. The cover plays into two modern trends in the lives of American grown-ups: capitalism (in the iconic — and oversized — portrayal of a widely-consumed good), and the counter-strike of publishing houses in an increasingly technology-based world. Okay so the latter may not be intentional, but the book is undeniably marketable. It may be a novel, or it may be a novelty gift book; neither is clear. But clearly it is about beer, and since 36 billion gallons of the stuff is consumed each year worldwide (a tidbit you learn from the back cover), it’s likely the book will tempt you to pick it up. That’s always the first step. It could even be considered a worthwhile investment; buy it now as a beer-guzzling college student, enjoy it as you grow in wisdom and beer appreciation and pass it on to your future children (let’s just call them beer-connoisseurs-to-be.)
Another possibility is that Robbins is fooling all of us and the book is a biting satire about consumerist consumption or a hidden warning about alcoholism. The small, frolicking figures are a bit ridiculous after all, and the mug embarrassingly idol-like. I doubt a book with such an enticing brewski on the front would find success with beer-despising readers. Instead, the cover is just right for readers like me — a college student who appreciates a good draft and a simplified education when I can come by it. And I’m kind of craving pretzels now, too.