Judge that by its cover

I’ve noticed a particular holier-than-thou social trend that seems to be on the rise among young people – regardless of race, religion, height, sexual orientation or favorite pudding flavor.

During a bit of light conversation, someone will reference a movie or a book. The other person will respond by saying she is unfamiliar with the work in question. Then conversation stops dead, followed by a dumbfounded look and a curt admonition from the first person.

I couldn’t possibly count the number of times I’ve had the displeasure of this response. It’s reached the point where I will simply lie just to avoid the annoyance of being scolded like a child for never having seen “V for Vendetta.”

It’s a movie, people.

Maybe you’ve gathered from my byline that I’m a student of East Asia. As a result, I’ve spent most of my college years reading books in alphabets that make most Americans bug-eyed.

This also means I’ve never gotten around to reading many of the great works of literature that so many rave about here in the Western world. I’ve never thumbed through “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer,” and I don’t know what happens in “The Grapes of Wrath.”

I do, however, have the ability to guess about the books’ content from their oh-so-descriptive titles, and I will do so now for your reading pleasure.

I’ll start off with a classic that it seems everyone – except for me, of course – read in high school: “To Kill A Mockingbird.” At first glance, the title sounds more like a straightforward how-to guide than a novel.

What the cover doesn’t say, though, is that “mockingbird” is a code word for Soviet double agents and “kill” is code for “seduce,” turning what is ostensibly a rather gruesome exposé on fowl executions into a tale of lust and intrigue with broad geopolitical ramifications. Well done, Harper Lee. Well done.

Another book I’ve always adored (in theory) is “David Copperfield.” It’s obviously about the titular magician, so the story automatically has a mystical flair.

Since it was penned by Dickens, it must take place in mid-19th century England. David, a young man who discovers strange and wonderful powers, attempts to do some good by healing people and improving their lives.

Instead of being praised for his works, the townspeople brand him a witch and chase him out of town. He spends the rest of the novel traveling around the countryside making friends and enemies along the way in a modern rehashing of the Christ story.

If any of the book summaries above have been overly offensive, I urge you to hold your righteous indignation for just a moment. I haven’t dealt you any personal blows, unlike those who belittle me in conversation for not having read the collected works of August Strindberg.

So I ask each of you to be a tad more conscientious about judging someone based on his or her reading habits. There’s always more to each of us than what’s on the cover.


E-mail: erbcox@indiana.edu