Is this book better than sex?
I often wonder how bad books can generate
so much buzz and positive reviews. It
almost seems as if the disenfranchised of the world got suckered into a lame
read one time too many and created a conspiracy to crow about the merits of
intellectual garbage while most of the truly great work of our time sleeps
undisturbed as a means of passing on the whammy. After a time, it becomes accepted that the
more eyeball bleeding and brain hemorrhaging it induces, the more it must be proselytized
as the next great thing.
This bad buzz can be found
everywhere: commercials, dust jackets
overflowing with sparkling reviews from the otherwise admirable, bookstore
displays, internet sights, pop culture references. Anthony Bourdain did this, touting this
cooking memoir as the greatest thing since sliced bread when it was actually a
disjointed stinker, thus breaking my fan-girl heart as I recalled all of the
fondness I had amassed for him watching him on television. Worst of all, these books can be proscribed
by friends and family, who have also heard about the book. Maybe they’ve read it, maybe not. Either way, they have good things to
say. During the few times I have elected
not to control my penchant for negative gossip-mongering, I find myself chided
for my unkindness. If the friend in
question has not read the book, she inevitably knows someone who has who really
enjoyed it…even if that person would rather keep this information a
secret.
Such has been the case with Fifty Shades of Grey phenomenon.
I know of someone who bashes the series publicly, especially when it comes
to her mother. Her mother would not
forbid her to read it, as these are grown women who do not even share the same
roof. Rather, she thinks her daughter to
intelligent for the drivel. The
daughter, meanwhile, insists that the series is quite good and continues to work
her way through it. I have also heard of
an upstanding elderly man who enjoys bodice-rippers as a means of making up for
his lack of physical capability for such actions by settling for temporal
seductions. He was apparently somewhat
ashamed to admit that he loved this title as well because he is afraid of what
people may think of him. My own husband
has been reading the first book now and again.
This is the man I married for his massive brain and nerdy physique. Perhaps a bit ridiculous is the fact that I
was upset he would pay full price for his copy, as I was convinced he would
hate it and that it must surely be beneath him on some rudimentary level. He says the writing is not too disappointing,
and he has even learned a few words from the small amount he has covered thus
far. I may eventually sneak a peek at
his copy, but I doubt I will be converted.
In all actuality, I will probably never even look beyond the back cover
because there are so many other books I can’t wait to devour.
I suppose bad is in the eye of the
reviewer. I cast my own stones and
laurels regularly on the Goodreads.com website, where I give my honest opinions
without worry of how they may be perceived by others. I may very well tell how a story has changed my life, but I do not promise it will change the lives of others, as that is a very risky guarantee. If someone has something to say about my
review, I welcome any academic-flavored discourse this may generate. After submitting my review, I look at what
others have said, hitting “like” on posts I agree with. Perhaps I comment now and then about my own
experience with a text that the review stirs up within me. If the reviewer is worlds apart opinion-wise,
I see what he or she has to say and move on.
Once I have read the text, it lives inside me, good or bad. I only wish others were more forthcoming with
the natures of their literary occupants.
