Paperback 1131: The Company She Keeps / Mary McCarthy (Dell 824)

Paperback 1131: Dell 824 (1st ptg, 1955)

Title: The Company She Keeps

Author: Mary McCarthy

Cover artist: Robert Maguire

Condition: 7/10

Value: $10

[Newest addition to the Doug Peterson Collection]

Best things about this cover: 

• I took one look at this and said "Maguire" so fast, I surprised even myself. Utter certainty. The guy had a style, and that style was Quintessential GGA (Great Girl Art). Robert McGinnis has probably the most recognizable style of all paperback cover artists, but for me, Bob Maguire is undefeated. Best of the best. He doesn't even have a lot of room to do his magic here, and yet that face, those lips, those (perfect) hands—unmistakable.
• Every time I look at this cover—every single time—I see an empty coupe glass in her right hand. And then I see that it's just an illusion created by the corner of the train (?) window behind her—an illusion reinforced by the bottle of booze on the ledge behind her.
• Just put some a cigarette, some booze, and a world-weary dame on your cover and I am happy. If she's on a train, even better.
• I love how paperbacks sexed up everything by the mid-50s, even "literary" fiction like this. Mary McCarthy is not exactly slinging sleaze, but there's no reason she can't look like she is. There are very few books that could be improved, looks-wise, by The Maguire Treatment.

Best things about this back cover: 

• She's like the antithesis of the woman on the cover, all brightness and smiles. She seems lovely, but I yearn for the down-and-outness of the flip side of this book.
• "Writes like a man"—ugh, these midcentury critics who are still startled to find a woman writer who is good and also frank about sex. Speaking of frank ...
• "Frank!" My favorite cover copy adjective. Feels like it's been a long time since I've seen "frank." I have a "Frank" tag for this blog and everything. Welcome back, old friend. I love "frank" because it's like the book's winking at you, like "psst ... it's dirty, c'mon, read it! You know you wanna..."

Page 123~

He made you think of Boy Scouts and starting a fire without matches and Wesley Barry and skinning the cat and Our Gang comedies and Huckleberry Finn. If he had ever been hard up, he could have been a photographic model, and one could have seen his pleasant, vaguely troubled face more often in The Saturday Evening Post than in Esquire. He might have done well as the young man who is worried about his life insurance, the young man who is worried about dandruff, the young man whose shirts won't fit him, the young man who looks up happily from his plate of Crunchies, saying, "Gee, honey, I didn't know breakfast food could taste so good!"

Frankly, this is great. It goes on like this (the chapter is called "Portrait of the Intellectual as a Yale Man"), and it doesn't get worse. I've never read McCarthy before, but I might have to give her a try.

~RP

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