Books, again, books…

Obviously, I heart books ever so much.  I’m writing one.  Most of my posts are about books.  I read books when I’m anxious as a sort of paper version of pot-brownies.  My room is lined with them.  I buy at least one, every paycheck.  I love books.

Just so much.

harry potterimages

These are my favorites.

Apparently my recent book reviews have provided this idea that I somehow…only read literature.  Or that my taste is always….ummm….good?  That’s not the word….  Snooty….  That’s not the word either…  My friend recently said to me I’d be better able to identify a good book than her.  And that made me upset.  Not in a tears way, but in a pondering sort of way.

girl fairyland

Another favorite.

One, I hope my recent Bulldog Drummond posts have convinced you that I don’t always read literature.  Bulldog is nothing other than pulp from the 20s.  I find them well-written and fun.  But, the first book did have a gorilla.  And not in a visit to the zoo way.  It was in a guard dog way.  So…you know…  Two, there are many books that I auto-buy that I’d qualify as brain candy.  In fact, for the most part, I prefer brain candy.  Much of the time, I prefer the light, fun, not taking itself seriously books.  

For that matter, though Anthony Trollope is a classical novelist, he has a part where one dude is beating the crap of another in the street.  Actually this happens twice in his books, just off the top of my head.  And there’s the part where one dude is engaged to two women at the same time.  And the time where a mother connives to marry her young son off to a much older woman for the $$$$.  Is it possible, in fact, that Trollope is pulp from the 18somethings?

But what makes a book good isn’t the language used (though this contributes) or the story line (though, obviously  this too contributes).  What makes a book good is subjective to YOU.  Because what makes a book good is how that book connects with YOUR imagination, your dreams, your heart and mind.  This is why everyone doesn’t love Harry Potter though, of course, those people are STOOOOOPID.

This is why I don’t expect (though I really really really wish) that every one will love my book.  But I do hope that somewhere out there in the nether are people whose hearts, minds, dreams, and imaginations mirror my own, and that the magic of reading will connect us.  Even though we’ll (probably) always be strangers.

But if someone tells you a book is dumb and you love it.  Shrug it off man. Love what you love.  You don’t have to only read the expected “good” books like Gatsby or Great Expectations or what not.  And you don’t have to be ashamed of Bulldog or Varney the Vampire or the pulp book of your flavor.



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