THE BOOKS YOU READ

I'm probably not the only one who does this. It's actually quite normal.
Or used to be. One of the things I always do when visiting someone is surreptitiously scope out the selection of books on their shelves. It's fascinating to see what other people read, and it says much about them. Their choice of reading matter describes them better than they themselves ever could.

One of my friends has a well-thumbed copy of The Da Vinci Code on his bedside table. One might think that it's there to bore him to sleep, but that would be wrong.
If you open it up, you will notice that nearly every page has a cogently rude comment written on it in red ink. Often several. He reads it when he's awake at night, and he cannot resist betraying that he used to teach 'creative writing'. The author (Dan Brown) gets a failing grade.
The Da Vinci Code is a load of codswallop.
Jejeune, stultifying, and turgid.

I have read more of it than almost anyone else I know. Frequent commenter here under amphibious pseudonyms S.H. claims he put it down after the first sentence. My ex read an entire paragraph. And I myself managed to get nearly two pages in before concluding that it was crap.

My friend with the red pen has read the entire thing. Several times. He's a glutton for punishment.


Another book that makes for a truly nasty reading experience is Memoirs of a Geisha.
I browsed through it at a bookstore for about an hour before deciding that everyone who had recommended it to me ("you should read it, it's so Asian, something you would like") had their head in a very uncomfortable place. Remarkable, because until then I had thought them sane and intelligent.
They had never spoken about The Da Vinci code, you see.
That fooled me into respecting them.
Which was wrong.

If you really need to read something "so Asian", try Hello Kitty Must Die, by Angela S. Choi. It's quite rip. Roaring. Demented. Pithy. And inspired.
Only tangentially about virginity.

Food plays a major role in the book.

It is not a sensitive portrayal of sweet Asian femininity and victimhood, or of the artistic meaningful spiritual aspect of an ancient culture. And consequently it is a far better read than Memoirs of a Geisha (by a white dude) could ever possibly be.

Artistic meaningful spiritual gives me gas.


My apartment is overloaded with books. Much is fiction, many are reference, and several are utter trash. An infinitesimally small percentage is meaningful or sensitive.

Absolutely none of it is The Da Vinci Code.


One of these days I'd like to meet someone who fondly remembers reading Beatrix Potter as a child. Or as an adult.
They would probably be fascinating to talk to.
And have good book recommendations.
As well as animalistic tendencies.




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