COVER DESIGN: INGRID PAULSON

For the past decade, Ingrid Paulson has been working as an editorial designer for publishers (and select self-publishers) of all sizes, providing art direction, cover design, interior design, and layout for all types of editorial projects, from large coffee table art books to small topical essay-style non-fiction books. She has designed all three book covers of Tamara Faith Berger’s publications with Coach House Books.

How important was it for you to connect the three covers? 

Little Cat was basically a reissue of two of Berger’s previously-published stories and was published soon after Maidenhead, so, at that time it seemed right to complement the look and feel of Maidenhead. 

When it came to Queen Solomon, Alana Wilcox suggested we move away from using paper in a suggestive way. And I tried! I was researching any objects that could be visual substitutes (flowers! fruit! landscapes!) . . . but I ended up thinking about the part of the novel where we find out Barbra was circumcised as a child—a barbaric practice done on young girls. And then the knife play during sex using an Xacto blade. 

I could see ‘cutting’ as a theme throughout the book, so I started to play with some paper and my own Xacto, and tried simple cuts, something a bit more labial (too much), straight slits, that kind of thing. It wasn’t quite working—I knew I was on to something, but I wasn’t seeing it. Then as I was angling one of the pieces of paper to get a better light on the blade, it appeared: if I cut an arc and bent the paper just so, and kept the knife blade in the shot, I could form a Q. (Of course, one’s mind tries to find other meanings, especially considering the subject matter . . . ) In the end, it worked best to keep with the techniques I explored with her previous book covers. 

Does your approach change when working with the same author on multiple projects? 

Well, I’m very aware of their previous work, and what their own preferences are in terms of design and imagery. So that informs some of my design process. It does work to an author’s advantage to allow for some consistency from book to book, because it helps build a readership: the bookbuyer can quickly recognize the author’s next book in a store or online. But if it isn’t a series, it is best to try to find a balance between similar and unique looks, and allow the book itself to stand alone.

And how did your understanding of Berger’s work change or stay the same (i.e. confirm or deepen your initial perception) from project to project?

There’s another reason I keep using paper: Berger’s work is highly sexual, but I see it as an invitation to explore other topics. In the case of Queen Solomon, that would be the status of Ethiopian Jews in Israel and the racism they live with, how that shapes their lives. It took me awhile to realize I was using paper to conceal and reveal—to create a deeper image out of the book cover or the pages themselves. It seems fitting.

I was struck by your association of paper and paper imagery with sexuality and the sexual nature of Berger’s work (and the societal power dynamics that often mirror sexual encounters), particularly as more and more of daily lives are being digitized. Is it important to your process to work with physical materials when designing covers? And how do you avoid fetishizing?

Well, I have used paper shapes to realize design ideas for other books. Perhaps it’s a meta response to digitization, as you suggest? 

For a number of years, book designers (and the publishers who love them) have been making conscious decisions to promote the tactile quality of print, from special printing techniques to real handlettering (vs a ‘handletter’ typeface) for covers. It is a response to digitization, and a way to compete against digital—only entertainment and information sources. And readers have responded positively to that shift. 

When I started designing back in the 90s, computers were almost too-new, and I’d still be cutting rubylith to correct film for the printer. When I went freelance as a book designer in 2003, all I needed was a computer. Nowadays I have a studio space where I can draw, letter, and photograph as I need, then digitize it (so, best of both worlds!). Using paper as a visual is a tool in my box, and considering the whole book is made from the stuff, it allows for a lot of subliminal comfort (ooh, paper is good, paper feels nice).

And really, it’s fun to go to work and muck around with ink or doodle for an hour. 

I don’t specifically relate paper sculptures or cutouts to sex or fetish, but in this case, it was a tool for me to find a balance between the corporeal and cerebral elements in Berger’s writing. So paper comes in handy that way, seeing as it is so mute, devoid of intrinsic meaning. 

And then there’s how the human mind will always try to find a familiar shape in an abstract image. I call it the Elbow Rule: I can use an image of a bare arm on a cover, but if it’s bent at the elbow certain way and other defining characteristics (such as a torso or hands) aren’t visible, one’s mind is going to start ‘seeing’ other, um, body areas. Coming up in the industry, I’d hear this saying used by some Canadian publishers: ‘will it sell in Moose Jaw?’ (You can sub in whatever town you want here. I just like we have a community named Moose Jaw.) With sexualized content, it’s important to make sure that the cover looks just innocent enough not to upset customers in bookstores, regardless of the community’s size and makeup. Some more conservative communities might balk, and the bookstore won’t stock the title, and then the book has a harder time finding its audience. But a cover image should also be suggestive enough that customers will grin and say ‘aha.’ This is pretty standard: for years, Simon & Schuster used photos of fruit for their Best American Erotica series, and Granta’s 2010 issue on sex used an open coin purse. All innocent enough, until they are positioned and photographed a certain way.