Smart Bitches Trashy Books | All of the romance, none of the bullshit.

Our candidate for cover snark this week--a Leisure novel released in late January--has left us both speechless.

We’ve talked about when bad covers happen to good books, and when good covers happen to books that fail the 30, the 5, and the 1-page test.

Now, it’s a whole new chapter in cover snark: when the same cover happens to multiple books. Thanks to Jane and Barb Ferrer for this faaaabulous samples.

Sarah: She doesn’t look sexy. She looks mean crazy scary. Not insane scary, like she’s going to take off her stiletto heel and drive it into your eyeball, or funny scary when you’re laughing on the out-breath and gasping in fear on the in-breath. Mean crazy scary, where you don’t take your eyes off her while she’s in the same room with you. Regardless of whether she’s representing fictional sex or actual sex, I wouldn’t hit that with a ten foot pole. She looks like she wants to murder dalmation puppies for a full-length coat.

Candy: She doesn’t just look like Cruella De Vil’s hipster daughter. The way she’s holding the underwear like they’re exotic artifacts from an unfamiliar culture or a choice of weapon ("Death by snu snu? Or death by ploot ploot?") gives me the impression she’s some sort of alien from a planet where the sentient life forms look like praying mantises masquerading as a human. She does seem to be a biting-heads-off-while-engaged-in-the-rumpy-pumpy sort.

Sarah: Suspense! Erotica! Nothing says both or either like Jennifer Love Hewitt in magenta. Magenta automatically makes anything, even the Ghost Whimperer, erotically suspenseful. Or suspensefully erotic. Or neither.

Candy: She’s thinking: Is he using Altoids? Or good-old fashioned Lifesavers? I CAN’T TELL.

He’s thinking: Boobs. BOOBS. HOLY SHIT BOOBS.

Sarah: And then there are the cover images and titles that don’t get used nearly enough. A weed-whacked treasure trail and the words “seasonal wind.” There’s so much comedy I can barely breathe.

Candy: Chili season is the unkindest season of all.

It seems the vast knowledge of the Bitchery when it comes to all things cover art is not a secret, especially among the publishing houses. I received an email from Lauren Naefe, Online Marketing Manager at HarperCollins, who asked if I consult the Oracle of the Bitchery to help settle an in-house debate. It seems the cover art for a particular book is under discussion, and there are two hotly-contested candidates for the coveted position. It’s like deciding the Democratic presidential nomination, only with Bitchery, cussing, and fun! How perfect for SuperTuesday, eh?

The book in question is Confessions of a Beauty Addict, the fiction debut of Nadine Haobsh which comes out November 18. Haobsh is the beauty editor who was outed by New York Post as blogger behind “Jolie In NYC”, a hugely popular blog about all things involving beauty secrets. Her nonfiction advice manual, Beauty Confidential was published in October of ‘07.

The summary of Confessions of a Beauty Addict reads as follows:

When Bella Hunter, Beauty Expert and all around magazine editor wunderkind, loses her job for spilling top industry secrets to Page 6 she thinks her life is over. And, to top it all off, she’s managed to dye her hair bright orange. At her wits end and desperate not to return home with her tail between her legs, Bella accepts a job a Womanly Wear: a magazine her mom reads. But how can she face her glamorous ex-co-workers now that she works in an office where khaki (not Cavalli) is the way of life? Bella is out to wage war on the beauty world one bad makeover at a time, armed with only her Marc Jacobs shoes, three meddling best friends, and a flighty supermodel boyfriend. At odds with her stuffy (and undeniably gorgeous) publisher, Bella begins to realize that she may be fighting the wrong battle.

With that in mind, here are the two covers that the folks at Avon A are battling over. Which do you like? What comments do you have for either one. Lauren has graciously offered 2 advance copies of the book to the two readers who offer the most helpful comment - so speak often and as much as you want. 

Diane, Viscountess Thrusston, and Kay, Equally Awesome, both sent me big huge ass boxes full of category romance. Seriously, I wanted to find a shrink ray so I could reduce myself by 60% and dive into the box of books and swim around with joy, papercuts be damned. So much reading! In so many various plot options! There’s secret babies, cowboys, sheikhs, private investigators, a late night talkshow host who swears up and down he’s a vampire… I’m so giddy I want to take a week off and do nothing but read old school category romances. There’s even some seriously vintage Betty Neels in there, which I’ve never read before. The women in the cover art have BIG GIANT ANIME-ESQUE EYES and the ends of the pages are red with that dye that totally comes off on my hands. I’m so happy I may plotz. Thank you, Diane! Thank you Kay!

But even better than the vintage way back machine in two boxes of awesome? THE COVERS. It’s not just vintage, it’s veeeentage.

Gemma sent us the following two covers. In the interest of politeness, I definitely said, “Thank you.” I would not say the same to the art department.

Sarah: Dear Lover England: Apparently I must lie back and think of you, even though I am distracted by the tingling sensation in my womanly parts. Is that normal? Love, your darling Schnookums.

Candy: 65-year-old playboy Humbert England was ecstatic when he snagged what he thought was a nubile 22-year-old playmate...except he found out for himself the advanced state of elective surgery when he discovered not just cobwebs in a Certain Place, but spiders, too.

Sarah: That woman in the middle, Nurse Scratchet, is wondering why these two grinning nimbobs haven’t gotten the message. “The Rose and the Thorn?” The fire in their respective nether parts? What does she have to do, spell it out for them: “YOU PEOPLE HAVE VENERAL DISEASE!”

Candy: Why are there children sitting around a bonfire in these people’s crotches? Seriously. Kids. In people’s crotches. Not cool.

Sarah: “...and the name ‘Rosamund’ will be forever synonymous with mammoth breasts no puffy shirt can hide.”

No wonder the poor thing needs a walking stick. Holy shit.

Candy: Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge...tracts of land.

Sorry for going for the obvious joke, but it’s not as if those bodice puppies are especially subtle.