Honey, the floodgates opened. The resulting 100+ posts convinced me that I'm not a freak for hating The Scarlet Letter (and I mean all of it, not just "The Custom House"), and that there are better ways to spend my time than with the cetology chapter of Moby-Dick.
Most of the titles discussed were literary classics, but I was surprised how many folks used the discussion as an opportunity to take potshots at genre fiction. Harry Potter suffered the slings and arrows, and of course, someone had to get snippy about romance. As the writer put it, "not just romance, but a Fabio-on-the-cover romance."
Quelle horreur. As if genre fiction, by virtue of its being genre, is less worthy of our time and attention than, say, some of the pretentious sludge fawned over in the NYT Book Review. I have precious little spare time as it is, so if I spend it reading, I want a satisfying ending. Doesn't have to be happy, but I prefer satisfying. None of this nihilist postmodern depressing crap for me. I didn't listen to the Smiths in the 80s, and I don't think Morrissey in print is too tempting nowadays.
At any rate, here's a snip from my response on the listserv:
I do not bestir myself to read Hemingway novels. Short stories, yes. Novels, no way. Being force-fed The Sun Also Rises once was enough to turn me off to the rest. I also hate The Scarlet Letter, Heart of Darkness, and most Victorian novelists. I wasn't particularly impressed with Catcher in the Rye or either of the Brontë sisters, although I love Jane Austen. Faulkner is my homeboy.I'm sure there's more (and you'd be horrified), but I'll stop there. Your thoughts?
I haven't read The Awakening. Jury's out on whether I will. I don't think I'll ever read Kerouac or more Russian literature.
1 comments:
I've never understood the fuss over Dickens. I agree with you about loving Jane Austen and hating the Brontes. Too much mood, too little substance.
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