For someone who looks like she has been ripped from a dense hedge, I put far too much importance on appearance; specifically, the appearance of books. Not the state in which it is in, a well read book looks as beautiful to me as a brand new one – I am talking about the jacket.
Without even reading a synopsis, I will have jumped to a conclusion on whether or not I will like a book based on its cover – if I see a woman in a field looking forlornly into the distance I will assume it is chick-lit and avoid. Not only is this a ridiculous method of selection, it means I miss out on some fantastic stories; never am I more thankful for other book blogs than when a cover dissuades me, my fellow readers give a far better scope on any enjoyment I may or may not glean.
From this prejudice realisation, I have come to the conclusion that change must be had, and thus, I am now going to go out of my way to investigate novels whose jackets I hate – there is bound to be a hidden gem amongst them.
Are you cover prejudice? When have you read a book where you detested the cover, but adored the story?