Paul Ford’s attempt to explain Phillip Pullman to his girlfriend –”He’s a, uh, talking polar bear. In armor”– reminded me of a business trip in the early 1990’s. The four of us, in our suits, are waiting for the connecting flight to Madison after a day of meetings with our client in DC.
Each of us has a book: my coworkers read serious literature: Walker, Borges, and Gaddis.
I read Colin Greenland’s steampunk space opera Harm’s Way. Fun book, but the cover, oy, the cover. It looks like a bodice ripper with the heroine in an empire-waisted dress clutched by a winged, bare-chested hunk.
My boss sees the cover, and shoots me a glare that violates arms control treaties. She’s embarrassed. I keep reading, but I wanted a word with the editor who picked that cover.
