Vintage is re-releasing six of Iris Murdoch's novels with fabulous new covers. The covers are beautiful, bright, enchanting; colors and shapes caress your eye. The covers alone are a reason to want to make some new book purchases. Which brings me to my point. Sometimes, smug people like to say, "Don't judge a book by its cover." Or, in the words of the irritating new Mary Poppins, "The cover is not the book." To that I'd like to say: The cover is also not *not* the book. It's fine to value a beautiful cover. I could not read Ann Patchett's essays when they were in galley form, because that form was not aesthetically pleasing. But I do have the essays in their Harper Perennial paperback form, and suddenly I'm in love. My nominees for the three best covers in recent history: *Ottessa Moshfegh, "My Year of Rest and Relaxation." The shocking pink lettering was justly celebrated--for the way it conflicted with the Jane Austen-ish...