O. Oprah. The Big O. Oprah: A biography. Such is Oprah. Such is the power of her name that it takes precedence over the words biography. It is Oprah, and she is it. I love Oprah. I really do. I am seriously in awe of that glorious woman, and while I do wish she'll come clean about her ambiguous female relationship and her even more ambiguous boyfriend, reading her biography will not change how I feel about her. Nor does this biography (sorry, "a biography) change how I feel about her, in part because she has pretty much disclosed all the details of her life on her show over the course of close to twenty years. I wonder if the woman wrote the biography after watching every single episode of Oprah?
Anyway, the searing white color of the book's background, broken only by the red title burns in my mind. It's, well, majestic. The cover art stands out despite its simplicity and because there aren't any illustrations or fancy fonts. The name Oprah is so ubiquitous you only have to say it once and people know who you're talking about, and that's not just because there is probably only one person we will all know in our lifetime who is named Oprah. In short, there isn't a bunch of doohickeys and whirligigs on the cover because the name holds the power. Oprah is all that is needed, and ever will be.
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