Getting back to the importance of titles. About 15 years ago I was on a crowded commuter train and a woman standing next to me was reading a book. Having grown up in NY, I'm well aware of train etiquette. Only noobs and tourists engage strangers in conversation - or even make eye contact - unless the train stops unexpectedly for 30 seconds or longer, a fellow rider has an adorable baby or toddler in tow, or a particularly offensive passenger just made his/her way through the car.
Nevertheless, this book's title was so compelling that I couldn't help but break an ironclad social contract. I tapped her on the shoulder, apologized for the intrusion, and said that I was intrigued by the title. Was the book any good?
She replied that she'd seen the title while idly browsing a book store table, was likewise very curious, took the plunge, and was happy to report that it was quite good. End of interaction. Armageddon wasn't triggered by my breach of social conventions.
I bought the book shortly thereafter, enjoyed it immensely and recommended it to several friends who also liked it.
On an aside, not long after I read it, my husband was talking to a fabric supplier who happens to be Iranian. Something came up about Middle Eastern politics and my husband made an insightful remark that surprised Joseph. He asked, "How do you know that?"
My husband replied that I'd talked to him about that part of Iranian life while reading Lipstick Jihad.
Hubby said that Joseph's eyebrows shot up and he said slowly, "Your wife read Lipstick Jihad? That's impressive." It had been recently published and while popular among Iranian emigres, it was far less so among mainstream Americans.
Truth is, Lipstick Jihad: A Memoir of Growing up Iranian in America and American in Iran, would probably never would have blipped on my radar screen if not for the prominent Lipstick Jihad portion of the title and the lady on the train.
