… this prompted me to think more closely about magnificent books I had resisted reading over the years. The first to come to mind was Arthur Miller’s “Death of a Salesman.” When I was in high school, the assigned version of Miller’s seminal play had a grim, depressing, green-and-brown cover depicting a stubby, doomed man with his back to the viewer, clutching two suitcases filled with merchandise for which no buyer could possibly be found. I was living in a subpar neighborhood at the time, and my dad was out of work, so it never seemed like that play was going to be as uplifting as “The Black Arrow.” So I never read it.
To be honest, though, I’ve read my fair share of good books with horrible covers, and I’ve rarely had a problem. Case in point: all seven of the Harry Potter books.