Fire and Flapdoodle

*Don’t worry. The book doesn’t die in this story but six—that’s six—criminally negligent proofreaders are still at large.

Let’s be clear: I love shopping for books. And owning books and giving books and reading books and having stacks of unread books and touching books and browsing for books and keeping lists of books to consider buying. But—I’m not a diligent reader of book jacket blurbs. I glance at the contributors’ names and skim the statements that get my attention. Azar Nafisi? Yes, I’ll read her blurb any day. Joyce Carol Oates? Probably not. Apparently, I’m shallow that way.

I have mad respect for the innumerable authors, publishers, and publicists who spend their days literally laboring over book blurbs. It’s big business. Google is rife with tips for snagging a celebrity promo or writing the ideal blurb that will really, really sell that new title. Granted, it’s hard to write something short and jam-packed with just the right information, witness the difficulties many users had with Twitter’s original 140-character limit. Or haiku, which I maintain is (are?) always a little too exquisite.

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Of course I had to go down the word origin rabbit hole looking for “blurb,” which sounds like something a dermatologist should examine rather than a glowing proclamation about a new publication. I still don’t know why a “blurb” is called a blurb but I did find an NPR story about the practice. It turns out we can thank American humorist Gelett Burgess, credited with coining the term in 1907. His 1906 book Are You a Bromide? (so weird) was released with a jacket depicting the fictitious Miss Belinda Blurb, “in the act of blurbing.” Now we can all take a moment to appreciate the gerund form of blurb.

It’s not that I am anti-blurb. Don’t get me wrong. It’s just that I have difficulty with overenthusiasm in any form. That’s probably the root cause of my disinterest. My default reaction is distrust, similar to my response when introduced to someone whose handshake smashes my fingers. I also have a problem with overwrought make-believe words like “unputdownable,” which was included among the laudatory descriptors mentioned in the NPR piece.

Conversely, blurbs that are deliberately ridiculous are somehow less annoying, e.g., the entire back cover of self-published The Amy Binegar-Kimmes-Lyle Book of Failures: A funny memoir of missteps, inadequacies, and faux pas. It’s probably true that I did feel 20-32% better about my own life after reading her book, as one blurber promised. The omniscient Amazon.com recommended this title “inspired by my browsing history” and I did enjoy it, mostly. Also, what a sad statement about my browsing habits.

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Now we get to the blurbicide case. [Cue ominous “Law and Order” underscoring.]

Via The Guardian, we meet Roxy Jacenko, real person, Australian socialite and businesswoman, PR specialist and former contestant on Australia’s Celebrity Apprentice. Are you impressed so far? She wrote her latest book in a breezy six weeks; Roxy’s Little Black Book of Tips and Tricks is a “no-bullshit guide to PR, social media and building your brand.” Thank goodness for such a straightforward resource because I’m one of the millions of people who still hasn’t created a “personal brand.” For the record, the cover of Roxy’s new book is actually an outrageous hot pink; it is neither black nor little.

But wait—there’s more. Roxy has previously written three fiction titles and—color me not at all surprised—she’s married to a “high profile former stock broker” who was convicted of insider trading in 2016. These people make me nostalgic for the earnest heartlessness of Daisy Buchanan and Jay Gatsby. (Yes, I know Daisy and Jay aren’t real and that’s my point.)

Author of four books. Miley Cyrus lookalike. Roxy’s Marie Claire magazine photo.

All of the advance copies of Roxy’s new book had to be pulped because of a proofreading oversight. Pulped! Such a waste. An erroneous submission from Roxy’s friend and radio/television personality Jackie O proclaimed Ms. Jacenko “never fails to disappoint.” You are not misreading that quote. Jackie concludes her blurb with, “…this book is an easy, interesting read that people in a lot of professions (not just PR) could learn something from.”

The whole blurb makes my head hurt. How did that word salad get past six proofreaders? Six people. That’s twelve eyes, we can assume. The publisher has not disclosed how many copies were printed with the error. Roxy dismissed her girlfriend’s mistake, saying the blurb should have read “never fails to deliver.” Whatever. You do you, Roxy.

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This mindless “never fails to disappoint” episode reminds me of one of my all-time favorite wits in the realm of dark humor, the late Oscar Levant. He could have uttered that same statement about a restaurant he frequented or any person, place, or thing in his orbit. Levant was indeed a genius. He authored Memoirs of An Amnesiac, among other sardonic titles, and was an incredibly gifted pianist and composer, film actor, and radio/television personality. Levant was also a notorious hypochondriac who wrote about his struggles in a brilliantly self-deprecating style that only he could pull off. About himself he said, “Underneath this flabby exterior is an enormous lack of character.” You see? It’s funny when it’s intentional.

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In the realm of less-notable-but-no-less-egregious oversights, I will leave you with two images from the hallowed cinder block halls of academia where I used to teach. These are actual signs posted in an actual school. We will never know how many sets of careless eyes these linguistic atrocities passed in production, from the original work order to the engraver to the custodian who stuck them to the hard surfaces they cling to still. And I’ve never been arthorized but I hear it’s not pleasant.