I don’t judge a book by its cover more than I do by the title. As long as the cover is not racy or movie tie-in, I’m an easy sell. But titles matter and they convey to me an immediate message about the book. If F. Scott Fitzgerald adhered to the earlier title of The Great Gatsy, Trimaochio, I probably would give the book a pass on first sight. Like strange-looking, eerie-smelling food, books with an ambiguous titles are usually deal breaker.
Lithub posts an interesting article about the origin of some iconic titles. I prefer simple, disarmingly beautiful book titles. Something lyrical and poetic, not cliched or too catchy. I’m sure authors are as fussy about the titles of their novels as parents are about the babies’ names. One can imagine the tediousness of the conception of book titles. For me a book title is a very slippery thing. It determines whether I’ll pick up a book or not, that is, before hearing the feedback of the content. I avoid anything that sounds obscure and ridiculous. Sometimes random isolated phrases make the best titles.