I just finished reading a really
unusual book called “S.” It was conceived by J.J. Abrams, the brilliant guy
behind the TV series “Lost,” which I absolutely loved until I absolutely hated
it. (I felt like it was equivalent to reading a 3,000-page Sherlock Holmes
mystery in which none of the clues actually wound up mattering because it was
all a morphine-fueled excursion into another dimension). Abrams is also the guy
who was handed the keys to the modern film versions of Star Trek and Star Wars
and Mission Impossible. Brilliance
begets good fortune—and a certain pop culture responsibility.
But about the book… “S” is an idea
that would have been immediately discarded as far too expensive and
outside-the-box if it had been proposed by just about anyone less creatively
successful. As Abrams tells it, he was at LAX more than a decade ago, when he
came across an abandoned book signed by a mysterious woman named Janet. It
sparked an idea that was finally realized when he recruited novelist Doug Dorst
to write up a tale (two tales, actually) and Mulholland Books to publish it.
The tagline: One book. Two readers. A world of mystery, menace and desire.
A young woman picks up a book left
behind by a stranger who, as evidenced by his notes written in the margins, is
entranced by the story (a novel called Ship
of Theseus) and the enigmatic writer (a secretive and mysterious fellow
called V.M. Straka). The readers—a college senior named Jennifer and a
disgraced grad student named Eric—eventually begin to write to each other on
the pages of the book. So it is essentially a double-story-intertwined. One is
a mysterious sort of adventure tale, the other a beguiling sort of love story
in the margins. What a cool idea.
It is basically two books in one,
and “S” is the title of the meta-concept. Thus it is a long read with a short
title. Add here’s where I finally get to the point of this post—it’s not even
the first book called “S.” John Updike wrote one. And several authors wrote a
collaborative novel of the same name. And Thomas Pynchon wrote “V.” Andy Warhol
wrote “A.”
Here are 33 of the shortest book
titles you’ll ever come across—along with a very short synopsis of each:


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