What’s the point of fancy special edition books?

I struggled with the title of this because it felt too aggressive to say "Why I hate special edition books," and it felt weird to say "Why I like paperbacks," because who doesn't?

But at the core, I am wary of those incredibly fancy gold-lettered books sold as special editions. I do not think they really add much to a book, and are very rarely appreciated by readers after purchase.

For one, there's a fear and a wariness about actually reading a beautiful book in the first place. Take Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy. Recently, I got an incredibly beautiful version that is blue and gorgeous… but I will never actually read from it because, essentially, it's a bit like a delicate china plate. It's just too pretty to read.

Take my other version, which I have had for many years; the Everyman edition, battered and broken, with pages that are well-worn and well-thumbed. That's the one I prefer reading because it's portable and comfortable, and it’s been loved many times before. It's the one I much prefer to, you know, actually read.

You may say, "Surely pretty books have a function! I want to have a pretty version of a book I love!" I appreciate that, but it doesn't fulfil that function well. When it's inside a bookcase, you end up seeing one side of it, not the actual pretty front cover to begin with. It’s a very pretty side, sure, but is that why you wanted to spend £30?

Plus, it's one step down from a coffee table book, because at least with that kind, you actually see the front cover. And let's face it, they are not actually there to be read. Coffee table books are more of an aesthetic item that may portray a certain side of your character, with perhaps bowls of chips or socked feet that rest on its top occasionally.

'"So why did you get it?" Because it's pretty! I attended an author event, saw the cover, and basically said YES. But after the purchase, I have read the book exactly zero times, which is a bit problematic as reading a book is quite important.

Covers have a marketing function. In many genres, great covers are essential, and having a strapping young lad or lass riding a dragon works well for some readers. But we all know it's not the main draw; it’s the words inside that matter. Books deploy aesthetic qualities to push sales (and it worked on me), but it's a minor factor in the worth of a title.

I raise my teacup to the paperbacks that have been dropped in the bath, traded hands many times over, or perhaps with a cracked spine from many wet-fingered page-turns. Those are the books that are alive and well and have such soul in them… much more than the ones adorned in gold lettering that will be barely touched in time.