Category Archives: Reading Rage Tuesday

Reading Rage: You can’t hide a self-published work under a vanity press name. Just don’t.

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hiding

I will just say that my book was published by Fancy Unicorn Pants Press and people will never know I published it myself.

Our review policy has undergone (is that a word? did I conjugate that correctly?) some changes in the recent past. I decided to stop accepting pitches from self-published authors because it was eating up an enormous amount of my time for very little return on my time investment. I changed the policy at that time to say that we would only accept books published by small and/or independent presses, because that’s kind of our bag when it comes to reviewing books.

An interesting thing happened when I changed the policy, which led directly to our new new policy (we just don’t accept books anymore). We started getting a lot of books that were “published” by small presses that I’d never, ever heard of before. Not that I’ve heard of every small press, but I’ve gotten fairly well-versed in small presses; when I see one I haven’t heard of, I like to look them up. Just for my own education–and, okay yeah, because some of these “small presses” were a tad suspicious. When I followed the Google trail for these presses, I found some interesting things:

  • Many of the small presses were vanity presses, where the author paid to have their book published. This? is not the same as being published by a small press.
  • Other authors actually made up small presses, which had only published their book, or maybe two or three selections (probably from their friends). The pages for these presses are usually nothing more than a makeshift, generically-branded shop where you can purchase the author’s book. It’s pretty obvious that it’s a fake press.
  • Still other authors didn’t even bother making any kind of online presence for their fake press. They would slap an appropriate-sounding press name on their book, but when I searched for any inkling of the press existing, I found nothing.

headdesk

Look, authors who have tried or are considering trying this–it’s really obvious when a small press is not a real press. It’s really obvious when someone starts a press (even if they’re legitimately trying to start a real press, which is only true about half a percent of the time in these cases) just to self-publish without being “self-published.” I’ve never run across this situation where I have had to carefully ponder whether the press was real or not. The evidence is immediately damning. The only way to be slick enough to pull this off is actually to fully launch a legitimate small press where you have editors and designers and you publish books for real… and then you’re not being sneaky anyway, you’re being industrious.

Pretending to have been published by a small press when you haven’t been is really annoying. For one thing, it’s totally lying, which I hate on its own. Only smarmy people and grifters lie about things that they’re representing or selling. If you published your own book, you shouldn’t hide that behind a fake press name–in my eyes, that’s tantamount to fraud. The difference between being published and publishing one’s own book is quite significant in terms of process; to indicate that you were published when you did the process yourself is to misrepresent your book. If you want to put a vanity name on  your book, then you need to make it clear that it’s a self-published book under the name of your vanity press. I shouldn’t have to go hunt through Google to try to figure out whether you published your book yourself.

(And if you’re reading this thinking “What’s the big deal?”–if it weren’t a big deal, it wouldn’t be happening in the first place; nobody would be trying to bury the self-published stigma under a fake press name.)

It was also annoying because it was disrespectful to us. Our policy clearly stated no self-published books. Even if your book has a press name slapped on it, if you self-published it, you self-published it. The fake press names were included specifically to circumvent our policy, which had 0% to do with whether a book had a press name on it and 100% to do with the differences in process between small-press publishing and self-publishing. Those authors were attempting to cheat their way into getting a review, and apparently didn’t think I would be smart enough to figure out their tactics. Because, you know, that’s exactly the kind of person you want writing a review of your book. Derp.

Dear respectable self-published authors: all of these shady jerkwads are ruining it for the rest of you. I’m so sorry you have to deal with stigma because a bunch of people don’t know how to be courteous and professional.

Here’s the deal, shady authors: bloggers such as myself put a lot of work into our blogs. We will do our homework if we specify certain policies. And we talk to each other–try to put one over on one of us, and word is going to get around to many of the rest of us. Information travels at high speed these days, and we don’t like to be tricked or lied to, so that’s information we will definitely pass along whenever the opportunity arises. So, you need to stop trying to loophole yourself out of being self-published. If you did the work yourself, own it! Don’t bury it under a fake press name. It’s rude and perilously close to fraud.

Have you experienced this tactic as a blogger or a reader? Have you bought books thinking that they were traditionally-published, only to find out later that they were self-published? What’s your favorite TV show? Leave your comments below!

I do not like the thing that you like, and that is okay.

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dislike

Also books, television, films, and clothing.

If you’ve been poking around IB for awhile, you know that I have pretty distinct tastes in books. While I’m not a total book snob (see also, my husband, who will re-read War and Peace fifty times before he will ever finish On the Road. And those are both literature), I do tend to hug the border of book snobbery fairly closely. I’m not one to take recommendations from people because it puts me in an obligatory position–and more often than not, I end up having to pretend I really liked something when I really did not. I know I could just be honest and say it very kindly, but people still tend to get a puppy-dog look when you tell them that the book they asked you to read really was not your cuppa. The look, it wounds me.

So, I get literary elitism, to a point. I do. And yeah, I am firmly in the “some books are better than others” camp–not just that I like some books better than others, but that some books actually have more overall literary quality than others. I do believe that there are certain marks of “good” writing (although I’m probably a lot less rigid on those marks than some, admittedly). Yeah, the criteria were made up by people, and yeah, they are subjective–but they have been fine-tuned by hundreds, nay, thousands of writers, editors, and scholars through the years, so I think they’re legitimate standards of quality.

So I get it. I do.

Here’s where the whole subject of literary elitism–any kind of elitism, really–breaks down for me: when people start not only judging the work, but judging the people who like the work. Looking down your nose at someone because they enjoy something? Not cool. Not cool at all. Like, it’s fine to say you think Dan Brown is a talentless hack . . . but, you know, when your friend just told you how much they really loved the new Dan Brown novel, that might not be the best timing.

Cue the eye-rolling here, of course. Die-hard snobs–the ones who have this problem in the first place–feel that it’s perfectly acceptable to judge others for what they enjoy. Why should they worry about another person’s feelings? They’re the ones who have to live with their shitty taste. Etc, etc. The fault in this logic, though, is that it assumes taste is built solely on the perceived quality of the work and the ability of the person to appreciate works of quality. Taste isn’t just limited to how good the work is, though. You have other factors coming into play–emotional connection, nostalgia, memory, personality, life experiences, setting, mood. Taste can be as individual as fingerprints.

Even though this is a bookish blog, I’m going to use music as an example. Music is an area where I constantly feel insecure. I actually thought about writing this post when I realized that I almost never share music on my social media. I’m friends with a lot of people who have very strong opinions about music, and a few who have made it clear that they have no qualms telling people when they have shitty taste. I’m not going to subject myself to that kind of treatment for something that I like, even if what I like isn’t considered “cool;” I have my reasons for liking what I like, and I don’t have to apologize for it. But I keep quiet about it all the same, just to avoid grief.

I never want to make a person feel that way about what they like–especially because most of us slum it in some ways. I see literary writers on Twitter live-tweeting The Bachelorette; I see those same music snob friends going crazy on Facebook over candy-pop tween book series. These kinds of things are mindless entertainment, and why shouldn’t we be able to have that without people looking down their noses at us? I have admitted freely that I watch The Jersey Shore. Yes, it’s trashy, and that’s what I love about it. I love that I can get embroiled in someone else’s dramz for an hour or so and not have to think about things. It’s kind of awesome.

I guess the overall point that I’m trying to make is that, yes, you certainly can judge things to be good or bad–but for pity’s sake, shut the hell up about it if you’re in danger of hurting someone’s feelings over it, because you can’t judge a person by their mindless entertainment. You can, however, judge someone for being an elitist asshole. I have to beg to differ with Rob Fleming/Gordon, here: it’s not what you like, it’s what you are like that matters. And if you’re the kind of person who kills the joy that someone else finds in entertainment because it’s not up to your standards, you’re a fucking jerk.

Reading Rage: Don’t Make Me Get Out My Red Pen

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Dear Self-Published Authors,

Can we chat for a sec?  Here, pull up a chair and let me get you some tea.  Tea is good for these types of discussions, right?  I think so.

Listen.  I think we need to have this talk because, quite frankly, many of you are doing this wrong.

No, I’m not talking about how you market yourself and your books (although Susie kind of has you covered in that department), I’m talking about the actual most important part of your book.  Your book.  Your writing.

Here’s the thing, self-pubs – by failing to properly proofread/edit/RE-READ your book, you’re not only failing your readers, you’re failing yourself as well.

I totally get that not everyone out there paid all the attention in English Class.  I understand that you may not have had your very own copy of your Grammar Primer that you carried around with you everywhere because you just LOVED LANGUAGE SO MUCH.  Really – I get it, swearsies.

My precioussssssssssss

I’d be willing to bet that you KNOW someone like that, though. I’d put good money on the fact that if you spend any amount of time on the internet AT ALL, you are acquainted with at least a handful of people that are complete and total grammar nerds.

“Oh, but most people don’t notice those things and if they do, they’re TAKING IT TOO SERIOUSLY!”

Okay, fine.  Maybe not everyone will notice.  Maybe.  But enough people will.  And those people that notice will likely either review your book, or just give up on you altogether.  Because an author that doesn’t care enough about the experience his/her readers have, just doesn’t give a damn at all.

Someone calls typos to your attention?  You are self-published, you can have that shit fixed and updated within an hour – for ebooks, anyway. To say that you “don’t have time” and that you’re “too busy” but you’ll “get around to it” is not only lazy, but disrespectful.

You don’t leave the house half dressed or looking like a cheap schlub, so why do you want to send your book out into the world that way?

“ZOMG, THE EDITORS WANT TO KILL MY BABY!”

Stop that shit.  Seriously, you stop that right now.  A good editor (even a halfway decent editor) doesn’t want to kill your baby, they want to help it be the best it can possibly be.  Why don’t you?  (And can we stop referring to books as babies?  That’s just gross.) You may think you know what’s best for your book, but if your work is full of homonyms and slipped tenses and just straight up WRONG WORDS, you shouldn’t be hitting that publish button.

 ”I’m an INDIE!  Indies don’t need to have their work polished!  It ruins that whole INDIE VIBE!”

This totally works. It’s polished AND from (an) Indie. Technically.

Okay, now you’re just asking for a punch in the junk.  Again, putting out something that hasn’t been read, re-read, stuck in a drawer (literal or figurative, name your hard drive “drawer” or something, I don’t care) for at least a month, then read again, rewritten and gone through several rounds of edits should NOT BE SOLD.  I don’t care if you think you got exactly what you wanted on the first go ’round.  Chances are really good that you didn’t.  Or that there are areas that need to be clarified/expanded on/removed altogether.  Giving yourself this distance from your work will make it better in the long run.  Please trust me on this.

An example:

I used to follow the blog of a woman I had much in common with musically.  We listened to a lot of the same music and even liked a lot of the same books.  She was funny, and even though I thought her posts needed to be proofread sometimes, I still enjoyed much of what she had to say.

Then came the day that she announced she’d written and self-published a book of short stories.

“Whaaaa?  She never mentioned that she’d been writing!” I said to myself.

Why had she never mentioned that she’d been writing?  Because she had LITERALLY JUST STARTED.  She wrote and published this book in less than two weeks.  TWO WEEKS!  I’m sorry, but that’s just unacceptable.  Two weeks is not enough time to perform rewrites or give oneself any sort of distance at all.  You can’t be impartial if only two weeks have passed.

It’s lazy, and it’s rude.  Yes, rude.  You expect people to PAY for something that you can’t be bothered with?  No, I’m sorry.

I still followed her, though.

Until 3 weeks later, when she announced that she’d published both another book of short stories AND a novel.  Both of which had been written in that same three week period.

Sorry, lady.  I’m done.  I don’t have time to read the blog of someone who shows zero respect toward potential readers (and CONSUMERS).

It’s that attitude right there that puts so many readers off of self-published work.  That “I wrote it, what else do you want from me?” stance is HURTING so many of you.

We read to escape.  We read to learn things.  We read for enjoyment.  We do NOT read to mentally correct your writing.

I mean, unless you’re paying us to do so, amirite?  Why should we pay YOU for something that you haven’t dressed up in its Sunday Best?

This showed up under a search for Dressed Up Books. Might die laughing.

We shouldn’t.  And we won’t.  Or, at the very least I won’t – and not to sound like a posturing asshole, but I’m the kind of person you want reading your books.  If I like something, I make sure the WHOLE WORLD knows.  I shout it from the figurative rooftops.  I tell everyone I know why they NEED TO read this book (I know, I know, I totally fail sneaky-fuckerism, but my method works for me).  And isn’t that what you want?  For people to be…y’know, reading your work?

TL;DR

I love self-published authors, as long as they go about self-publishing the right way.  If you’ve published something yourself I WANT you to succeed.  I want as many people to read your book as possible.  Unfortunately, many of you are shooting yourselves in your collective feet by approaching the process so cavalierly.  There’s a reason books can sometimes take years to come out in the world of the Big Guys.  There’s a reason editors have jobs.  There’s a reason people look down on a lot of you.  Do us all a favour and proofread the hell out of your book to make sure it’s as strong as possible before sending it out.  And if someone brings an error to your attention, thank them and take care of it straight away.  People will respect and appreciate that.  It shows that you CARE ABOUT your readers.

What do you guys think?  Am I too picky, or do more self-published authors need to get out their own red pens?  How much of a factor is this for you when deciding what to read?  Let me know in the comments!

 

Reading Rage: Authors, stop having your friends review you. Just stop.

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So, another author outed himself and his fragile ego the other day. With much eye-rolling, I clicked over to the incident in question, a one-star Amazon review that he was a-chirp about on Twitter. The review itself was pretty mild; I contented myself with merely verbally slapping down a friend of the author, who told the reviewer to just “say nothing” if he had nothing nice to say. Out of curiosity, I clicked through to see what his other reviews looked like.

All four- and five-star reviews. Of course. And I could tell that most of them had been written by his friends.

“But Susie, how could you tell that they were written by his friends? What are you, some sort of wizard?”

Yes.

Friends who write reviews for other friends have obvious tells. Sorry to burst your bubbles, authors, but it’s true, and nothing puts me off buying a book faster than when it has a ton of good reviews written by people who obviously know the author. At the risk of making smarter friend-reviewers (yeah, right), let me enumerate some of the ways that I, a real live consumer of books, can tell that someone did you a solid by reviewing your book.

Glowing review, light on details. Now, not everyone is a super-detailed reviewer, but when you see a book that has loads of overly-gushing reviews that don’t really talk about the book at all, it’s a sign that you may be reading a friend-review. These reviews often read, “GREAT BOOK! I couldn’t put it down! I am a new fan of this author! I will read every book he ever publishes forever!” or “I was captivated by THE FIRST SYLLABLE. [Author] has a truly unique talent. He will go far! Highly recommend!” It reads like a review your grandma would write, right before she gives you a quarter and tells you to buy yourself some candy down at the dime store.

Refers to the author by name, awkwardly–sometimes just by first name. If you read a lot of reviews, like I do, you start to notice little patterns that happen in friend-reviews that don’t happen elsewhere. One is that a lot of friend-reviews go out of their way to talk about the author by name. I saw one earlier that actually just called the author by their first name, as in, “You need to read Bob’s book! Bob is the best!” That’s just a little familiar, isn’t it, for an author you never supposedly met?

If you read other reviews by actual consumers, you find that they don’t refer to an author by name as often (unless it’s an author with a huge following… that wouldn’t be the case here). Sure, they do sometimes, but it’s generally more focused on the book than the author. As in, “I like this book because… ” and not “This author that most people have probably never read RULEZ MY SOCKS OFF ZOMGGG. I am a FANGIRL/BOY/THING.” If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say the name thing pops up more often in friend reviews because they’re reviewing FOR the author, and not reviewing the actual work as an objective consumer, so they’d naturally talk about how much they like the author. Which is great; I’m glad the author has friends, but that has nothing to do with whether I want to buy the book.

Lots of people who say, “I wouldn’t ordinarily read this kind of book, but . . .” When your book has fifteen reviews and at least 20-33% of those reviews start off this way? Those reviews just got friendzoned.

Their criticism isn’t real criticism. We’ve all been in that job interview where your potential future employer asks, “SO, what’s your biggest weakness?” We also all know that only a lying kiss-ass says, “Durr, my biggest weakness is that I’m a workaholic and too much of a perfectionist.” Yes, those are huge weaknesses of a potential employee. Jerk.

Friend reviews have the same thing going on. “My only criticism? I wish the book was LONGER!” “I only wish that there were ELEVENTY-BILLION MORE BOOKS JUST LIKE THIS ONE.” No you don’t; those aren’t real criticisms of a book besides. Almost nobody thinks any book is perfect. If you can’t come up with a single, solitary, baby thing that you can say about it that isn’t just good but OMG THE BEST!!1!, I’m calling friend-review on your ass.

The review gives vague praise about things that customers may not even care about, without addressing things that customers do care about. “This book is fast-paced!” “This book poses questions that beg for answers!” “Wacky! Creative!” “This story had incredible twists and turns; you never knew what was going to happen next!” Yeah, okay. What about the characters? I don’t give a crap if the book is fast-paced if the characters suck. I don’t look for “wacky” or “questioning” in a book, either. I mean, if a book has those things and they’re appropriate to the book, great. By themselves, though, they’re not high on my list of “I must buy this book right now” priorities. Twilight had lots of “twists and turns,” and it was a steaming, glittery pile of vampire poo.

The reviews read more like marketing copy than thoughtful opinions. So, you’ve been asked by a friend to review their book. You want everyone to read it, right? Because you like your friend. So you write a review trying to convince people to read your friend’s book, and that’s where you make your first mistake.

Very few objective readers will be that invested in a single book–certainly not many readers, in the case where you see review after review urging you to buy a copy of some unknown book. Am I really to believe that, out of a handful of reviews, over half of people who randomly, objectively read your book thinks that “everyone should buy this book!” and that it’s “a must-read!”? You must be pretty good, if that’s the case; most authors don’t get those kinds of percentages of superfans. Or maybe you just recruited your friends who already like you. Hmm.

(One review actually read, “this is a novella from the mind that brought us TITLE.” Is this a book trailer or a book review? I don’t even.)

Why does all of this matter? Because marketing is based on trust, and you just violated my trust. Those are just a few examples of review content that tells me you’ve had friends reviewing your work. And while, again, I’m glad that you have friends, of course your friends are going to say that they like your book, whether they did or not–or whether or not they even read the damn thing after they bought a copy. Having friends review your book, and do it so obviously at that, makes me suspect that your book probably isn’t very good–and even if it is, I’m still going to steer clear because you have tried to rig the system in your favor. It’s dishonest. It’s a breach of trust.

So fucking stop already.

What about you guys? How do you feel when you read reviews that clearly came from the authors’ friends? Are you less likely to buy, or do you not mind? Tell me what you think in the comments below!

Reading Rage Wednesday: What showrooming really means to the indie bookshop.

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Psst, hey. Before you read today’s reading rage, did you know we’re doing a book tour? And a giveaway? In case you missed it, @borkadventures wrote a beautiful post on poetry and nostalgia here; we also had two illustrations based on Amy’s poetry, here by @megiggleston from Snobbery and here by @heinakroon. I would be the most happy if you would visit these fine posts.

Showroom,constructiv pon

That dude looks so happy to be part of a showroom display.

Last week, I wrote a reading rage on the topic of indie bookshops that sneer at e-readers. Some of the response that I got back was, “Yeah, they probably shouldn’t be rude to customers–but CUSTOMERS are rude! Because they showroom!” Showrooming, if you haven’t heard of it, is the act of going into a store and checking out merchandise that you want to buy, then going home and ordering it online, effectively transforming a retail establishment into a personal showroom. Up until about two days ago, I, too, was anti-showrooming. It just seemed rude as hell. After all, what kind of a jerkwad goes into a store, looks at items being offered for sale, and then shops around to get a better deal?

Oh, wait. That would be all customers, forever.

It hit me when I was chatting with @Wiswell in the comments of last week’s reading rage (which you can check out here, if you care to see the background context) that showrooming is a fancy-schmancy name for what we like to call “competition.” Barring some extreme examples, like when @deadwhiteguys recounted a customer who was actively telling other people not to buy products from that store because they’re cheaper on Amazon (who DOES that?), if a customer “showrooms” without making a purchase, it’s really not a result of rudeness. What it is, and I’m sad to say it, is the bookstore failing to make the sale.

I know, competition got a lot tougher in the digital age. Indies already had problems competing against big box bookstores, which offer discounts on new hardbacks and usually a cafe and lounging environment; with Amazon also offering lower prices, carrying just about any book you can imagine to buy, and giving customers shipping deals, closing that sale must have gotten even more difficult. Factor in smartphones and tablets, which give us all of that information without having to go back home to our computers? I’m not at all surprised that indie bookshops are feeling the pain. The thing is, we can’t blame the customers for wanting a better deal. And we can’t blame Amazon for B&N for legitimately getting into a business. (HOW DARE THEY sell books online at lower prices because they can buy in bulk and store in a warehouse where per-book overhead is lower?? Yeah, there just . . . there isn’t anything illegal or immoral about big companies selling books at lower prices.) We can’t even blame the fact that Amazon doesn’t charge sales tax; on a $25 hardcover, sales tax in my area rings up to about $1.37, and that amount of money probably isn’t going to sway me from buying a book in a store so I can wait several days to receive it in the mail. Unless I’m buying hundreds of books, sales tax just isn’t going to factor in as huge savings because they’re not huge purchases to begin with–plus, if I’m spending less than $25 on Amazon, I’m going to pay more in shipping than I save in sales tax (which I’m supposed to be paying anyway when April rolls around).

Strip away all of the usual bullshit about who is responsible for some indie bookstores tanking in the digital era, and we come down to this: if you can’t compete, you can’t stay in business. Sometimes it’s hard to compete. Sometimes you’re doing your thing, and then someone comes along and is a lot better at doing your thing than you ever imagined anybody would be–although, it’s worth noting that, according to ZDNet, only 25% of customers who compare prices online while in the store (6% of total customers) actually go on to buy that product elsewhere. This, they say, is a great thing–because the store has a chance to corral the other 75% and turn their browsing into buying.

The firm that conducted the study cited by ZDNet also had this to say about showrooming:

“But Vibes researchers say that instead of battling against showrooming, retailers should embrace it. First off, “If you offer price matching, your associates should be trained to observe ‘showrooming’ behavior and approach customers proactively with offers and information to help close the sale,” the study states.

Retailers should also understand that the presence of a smartphone in a shopper’s hands can be an aide to closing the sale. In the survey, 48% of showrooming shoppers said that they felt better about their purchase after doing some in-store research and shopping around on their phones. What smartphone-enabled shopping eliminates is the well-founded concern consumers have that soon after they make a purchase they’ll find out the item had poor reviews or was available for a much cheaper price elsewhere. With a little pre-purchase showrooming, however, these worries fade.” — “Could ‘Showrooming’ Actually Be Good for Brick-and-Mortar Retailers?”, Time

“Embrace showrooming?! Are you crazy, bookslut lady? I want ALL that shit OUT of MY STORE!”

Am I so crazy?

“Among the most ineffective — and potentially damaging — responses would be to block customers from doing online comparison shopping while in physical stores. ‘The ability to bring outside information into your store will only increase,” says Adner. “You can’t really lock the consumer in, and companies that try to do that will fail.’ Alison Jatlow Levy, a retail consultant at New York City-based management consulting firm Kurt Salmon, agrees. ‘The last thing you can ever do is upset a customer,’ Jatlow Levy notes. ‘Anything that alienates the customer will do so much damage.’” — Knowledge@Wharton, UPenn

Frowning upon showrooming–or chasing away customers who are showrooming–is a disastrous response. I have every right to select my retailer; I don’t owe anybody anything just by virtue of walking into a store to see what they have for sale and at what price. Here’s another thing that’s not crazy: like I said last week, if I’m in your store, I’m already at least halfway to making a purchase. Online retailers don’t always have an advantage, because there’s a powerful lure in instant gratification. If I’m holding the thing I want already in my hand, and the price difference isn’t terribly significant (hardbacks, it will be; paperbacks, not so much, unless I opt to buy used), I’m already going to be leaning toward buying it right then, right there. Mix in some value-added services and a well-trained sales staff? I’m walking out of that store with the book, more likely than not.

And if I don’t buy the book from your store? It’s not my fault, yo. If bricks-and-mortar retail wants to re-establish competition where it might be lagging, the first step is to stop blaming the customer. We hate that and we won’t forgive it very easily.

What about you, book fans? Am I crazy? Do you whip out your phone in a store to check prices? Have you ever been given a dirty look–or worse!–for doing so? Tell me your thoughts in the comments!

Reading Rage Wednesday: Open letter to indie booksellers who hate e-readers.

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Bookstore Cat

Bookstore cat is not impressed with your e-reader.

Dear indie booksellers who hate e-readers and feel the need to rant about it on the internet and/or post snotty signs in your bookshop telling people who have e-readers to piss off:

Hey, I understand that you feel a little salty toward e-readers. It must feel like a kick in the teeth when someone sidles up to one of your cafe tables (never mind that they just spent money buying coffee in your establishment, and probably paid a premium) and pulls out an electronic book device. I mean, you sell books, but not those kinds of books. Whipping out a Kindle in an indie bookstore is a bold statement that says, “I prefer not to buy my books at this shop, but I’ll sit here and taunt them with the lost revenue as I tap through my book of choice.” It’s no wonder that you feel the need to speak out against e-readers, which are clearly ruining your ability to survive in today’s market.

You must, however, suppress that urge at all costs. No, really, I mean it: your customers and followers must never know how much you revile e-readers.

There’s been an unfortunate trend lately of indie booksellers unleashing their rage, maybe not directly at people reading ebooks (although in some cases, yes, probably directly at them), but in the general direction of e-reading persons. I’ve seen blog posts, tweets, photos of signs in bookshops, actual signs in bookshops, and Facebook posts that all have a general theme: if you like to read on a plastic screen, you can stay right the hell out of my small bookshop. Being an unapologetic Kindle-owner, my response to this kind of missive is short and not-very-sweet:

Fuck you.

Seriously.

And also, I’m making a mental note to do exactly what you suggest: I’m going to stay the hell out of your store, and I’m probably going to tell all of my friends to do the same. Not because you want me to stay away, but because I don’t want to spend any of my dollars (which, in case you haven’t noticed, are in shorter supply these days) at a shop that seems to feel entitled to my business–to the point of very nearly telling me to fuck off because, sometimes, I like to read on my e-reader. I really don’t appreciate being told how I should and shouldn’t read, and I definitely don’t want to be made to feel unwelcome in an establishment where I might have spent money, only, they don’t like a gadget that I sometimes use and felt the need to get shitty with me about it.

How else am I supposed to react to this? Yes, please, take ALL OF MY MONEY; I love it when my shopping experiences feel like I’ve wandered back to junior high. Professionalism, pffft, who needs that? No, I need a good healthy dose of shaming with my purchase, please, and if you can muster it up, I’ll also take a side of passive-aggression.

I’m honestly baffled by this attitude. I suppose it stems from the idea that, if I own a Kindle, I’m very unlikely to buy a low-tech paper copy, so you’re not going to get my business either way–may as well take out your frustrations, then, amirite? I don’t know where that idea came from, but it’s so false. If I am in your bookshop to begin with, I’m halfway to purchasing something. I may not even know it, I may not have come in with buying something in mind, but I am on the cusp of making a purchase just by virtue of walking in the door. People like to own things, and book-lovers especially love to own books. (Yes, yes, there are some e-reader owners who don’t get into book-hoarding the way the rest of us do . . . I think those people are far less likely to darken your doorstep.) Given the ridiculously high prices of ebooks, I’m quite likely to buy a book from you if I see a book in your shop that I really, really want; for just a little bit more, I can have a tangible item that I could later resell or trade for another book, or, failing that, I can add it to my collection and pet it every now and then. Plus, there’s a powerful magic in walking out of a bookshop with a brand-new book that charms even a proud ebook-reader.

So, where’s the disconnect? Why aren’t we buying books from you instead of loading up our e-readers? Well, there are a few factors. Price is a huge one to overcome–I, frankly, don’t buy many books these days period, we’re in a recession and the days of my blowing $50 every payday at the bookstore are over for awhile. (Y’all aren’t the only ones suffering, you know? Every purchase has to count now.) I’m far less likely to buy books on a whim, which means those displays better be working overtime to catch my attention. Lack of selection often gets me (like, a lot of the indie shops here don’t have a full selection of indie press books.. even the indie press that is in town, wtf? I would shop local indie bookshops far more often if they took a page from Farley Bookshop’s playbook and had a decent indie press stock). These, already, are significant obstacles to overcome; if you add in “judgmental about how I choose to read my books” on top of that, you can basically guarantee that I’m never shopping at your store again.

And I would have. I want to impress that upon you–I would have spent mad money at your bookshop. Maybe not today. But if I came into a little un-earmarked money? If I needed to shop for holidays, birthdays, gifts? When I wanted a copy of a book and I didn’t want to wait or pay $15 for a brand-new ebook (especially now that Amazon is getting a little bit leaner with its shipping that is guaranteed to arrive on launch day–the last couple of times I pre-ordered books, they came about a week later because I didn’t pay extra. CAPITALIZE ON THAT, INDIE BOOKSELLERS)? When I could have, I would have. Now that you’ve been unspeakably rude about my personal reading choices, I won’t. Simple as that. I can forgive prices being higher than I’d like; I can forgive you sometimes not having the small press book I want to read in stock; I can’t forgive you making it personal with me over my e-reader.

Stop writing us off. A lot of us swing both ways when it comes to book formats, but we’re not happy about buying books from people who look down their noses at us. If you’re already struggling–and why would you be bitter about it if business were booming? I guess you could be on principle, which is even more irritating in its presumptuousness -you can’t afford to turn me away because I own a device that you don’t like. I mean, it’s your store at the end of the day; if y0u’d rather go down with the ship because you hate e-readers that goddamn much, or you’d rather make less money because you don’t want filthy e-reader-having people shopping at your establishment, it’s your call. All I’m saying is, we all love books, okay? Don’t alienate me for a personal choice. We’re all on the same side here.

I bet we both hate Dan Brown, too.

Love,

A customer who finds you hard to love, but is willing to keep trying if you’ll meet me in the middle

Reading Rage Tuesday: Wondering what’s “killing” literature? Try technology and education.

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Pageant of American Literature, view 3

Oh man, I’m not even sure how such distinguished writers can stand so very close to common riff-raff. Edna St. Vincent Millay looks traumatized.

WHEW. Back to the reading rages after what seems like about a million years, give or take a million. How are you guys? Did you miss me? I MISSED YOU.

Today’s topic is one I had planned for last week, but then the thing happened, and I don’t know, and now it’s this week so I’m writing it now. What’s kind of fun is that, if I had written it last week like I planned, it would have coincided with this post by Amanda over at Book Riot (go read it after you read this post, it’s a hoot and a half), which touches on a similar topic–a topic, in fact, that concerns us all very deeply.

The death of literature.

Yes, my friends, those who are in the know say that literature is dying. Quality writing gasps its last tortured breaths while obviously inferior works like Twilight and The DaVinci Code and most anything by Stephen King rush in to take its place. Why, it’s really only a matter of time before bookstores will be half Harlequin romance, a third paranormal horror, and Tom Clancy filling the rest, with nary a Faulkner or an Austen to be found. In a few decades, James Patterson and Danielle Steele will be taught in schools, and the next generation of writers will be little more than drooling, furiously-masturbating penmonkeys who couldn’t define symbolism if their lives depended on it and are only good for writing sex scenes and violence.

(has a fit of uncontrollable coughing)

Sorry, I always choke on bullshit.

According to Amanda over at Book Riot, there’s a man who thinks that the death of good literature is my fault. And your fault. Basically, every book blogger’s fault, and hell, while we’re at it, let’s just blame all readers, too–after all, if “readable” books are displacing “literature,” I guess everyone who has ever bought a “readable” book has some measure of culpability. The man in question is Sir Peter Stothard, an editor for The Times Literary Supplement. While he thinks it’s “wonderful” that we all have our little sites, talking about our reading and so forth, we’re not on the level of real critics; if we are allowed to run wild, suggesting books for people to read and talking about said books, why, we’re going to ensure that no actually good books are ever read and literature as we know it will die off. Because, you know. We should only be getting book recommendations from professionals who actually know what good books are.

Can you hear that? It’s the sound of the world’s saddest violin playing for Sir Peter Stothard. I believe it’s being played by Itzhak Perlman.

Book bloggers are, of course, just the latest in a long chain of scapegoats being blamed for the death of literature. And let’s get real, literature isn’t even dying–changing, yes, but not dying. Hand-wringers like Sir Peter talk about the death of literature in the same way that our parents fretted over that rock-and-roll (or rap or industrial or whatever) “noise” that we’re listening to, or we fret over those morons on reality television; but, to be fair, there has been quite a change in the past century or so in publishing. Books went from being revered and a bit rare to being cheap and common. What happened? What gives?

If anything is “killing” literature, it’s fairly simple to pinpoint exactly what has happened: more people started reading books.

That’s it. I mean, that’s the whole thing. More people started reading books.

Combine a rise in literacy with the 1930′s innovation of mass-market paperbacks pioneered by Penguin and others, plus the publication of pulp fiction magazines preceding even that, and you’ve got yourself a winning formula for people reading solely for entertainment. And why not? Books are inexpensive, they give you hours of enjoyment, they’re quiet, they’re portable, and you can keep them forever if you want. It’s no secret to us, of all people, that books really do make the perfect entertainment.

Like all entertainment, there are . . . grades, you might say, of books. Some people like to read books that challenge their minds; some like to read books that provide thrilling and/or racy stories; some like to read books that take them to distant lands, or even distant planets; some people like a mix of “thinking” books and “junk” books. What’s more, we now have cheap publishing options to help put as many of all of these kinds of books into the hands of consumers as they can read; hell, you can even publish books digitally now. Publishers, rather than being the “gatekeepers” and preservers of literary culture that they claim to be, are really quite the opposite: they’re out there grabbing up as much content as they can, and they don’t care if it’s 15-year-olds writing steamy romance novels or epic fantasies about dragons, or middle-aged women living out their raunchiest fantasies in 75,000 words or less. Book about a girl in a love triangle with a werewolf and a vampire? You said it did well in the focus groups? Let’s put that baby to bed, motherfuckers! Large publishers are all about the benjamins, and there are MANY BENJAMINS in selling crappy books. (Hey, despite an overall increase in literacy, there’s still no accounting for taste.)

What Sir Peter doesn’t seem to realize is that he’s a book nerd, and nerds occupy a very special area of the continuum of enjoyment. It’s a very small area, and if you look closely, you can see that it has a wedgie but still manages to look superior and self-satisfied. (He claims that he’s only ever seen six films in his entire life because he loves reading so much. That’s a special brand of nerdism.) The hand-wringing starts when people like Sir Peter see “other” books start polluting the literary pool. We’re all quite well-meaning, they’re sure, but we really shouldn’t be allowing such trash to be published or encouraging it by buying the books or talking about them on the internet. We’re just not qualified.

I have sad news for the supernerds bemoaning the “downfall” of literature: you’re never going to be able to put this bus in reverse. Even the people who make books aren’t on your side; they’ll give you a pat on the head and pretend to commiserate, then go back to making fat cash selling the newest Stephen King or Nora Roberts, or putting up insane advances to get the next book by Snooki secured at their press. I have happy news, though, too: as long as people are putting pen (or keyboard) to paper, there will always be literature. Great literature, even. It won’t look like your grandpa’s literature, but it will be there. And as long as it is there, there will be discourse by learnéd people about literature. And I’ll tell you a secret: not all of the bloggers out there are telling people to read “bad books.” To think that is absurd. Sorry, Sir Peter. But it is.

What do you think, book fans? Is literature, in fact, dying? Are book bloggers preserving literary culture or ruining it? Did you know that you were playing a part in the downfall of ALL OF LITERATURE? Drop those comments like they’re a steamy Harlequin romance heroine.

Reading Rage Tuesday: Get all Snobby Again and I’ll Give You a King of a Neckpunch.

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Oh, you’re reading THAT? Huh.

There are a lot of things in the world that make me ragey. Bad drivers. Raging sexists. Bags of food that say “easy open” but they are CLEARLY NOT EASY OPEN and you TOTALLY TEAR THE WHOLE BAG OPEN and then fish sticks go EVERYWHERE and the cat comes over all “YAY WHAT A BANNER DAY FISH STICKS FROM THE SKY!” I mean, so I hear. I totally would never eat fish sticks. How déclassé would that be? Fish sticks. I mean REALLY.

Reading-wise, I have my rages, too. Cardboard characters. Lack of proofreading. You know. The usual. The things that make us all ragey. But today, let’s talk about something that’s a little more personal to me, and also to the week.

It’s time to stop the King-snobbery, because it makes me want to punch you in the throat-area.

Uncle Stevie does not approve of your asshattery.

I’m (well, duh, I think you can tell from the week) an unabashed King fan. I’ve read nearly everything he’s written, give or take some short stories I’m having trouble hunting down. New Stephen King book day in Casa de Amy is akin to Christmas or a birthday. I started reading his books in junior high, snuck to me by a very sympathetic (and kickass) babysitter. (Seriously, I don’t remember her name at this point, but she was such a reader. I loved her. She was funny and intelligent and always shared her books. And would buy books for me that she thought I’d like at garage sales and let me keep them! Babysitter whose name I don’t remember, I appreciate you!)

A thing I hate is when I tell someone I’m a King fan (because listen, I’m not at all ashamed of it, it’s not like I’m admitting to picking my nose in public places or being…*shudder*…a politician) and they make THE FACE.

You know the face. The face of disgust. Like the person smelled something ripe in public. Then I get, “Oh. Stephen KING. I don’t read his books.”

Usually these people feel the need to explain WHY they don’t read his books to me. The reasons are:

  • “I hate horror. I never read horror.”
  • “I don’t read that kind of trash. I only read…(Oprah’s selections/non-fiction/books written by female authors on paper woven of their own hair.”)
  • “He just keeps writing the same thing over and over. He’s boring.”
  • “That’s popular stuff. Popular stuff is never good.”
  • “THOSE BOOKS ARE FILTHY!” (that one’s from my mom. One cuss = that book is filthy.)

Now, listen. Everyone has their own taste. I don’t like to be judgey. What? I totally don’t. I mean, I AM, but I get it. Some people like some things, some like others. I get it. But I don’t like THE FACE. The snotty, snooty “MY BOOKS ARE BETTER THAN YOUR BOOKS” face.

Stephen King shouldn’t inspire Bitter Beer Face. (Please tell me at least one of you remembers the Bitter Beer Face commercials or I’m going to feel ancient.)

Maybe he’s not your taste; maybe you don’t like his writing style, or, like my mom, even one cuss makes you feel like you’re holding a book of porn, I don’t know. But I can address the reasons above in a very intellectual way. You just watch, bub.

I hate horror. I never read horror.
He just keeps writing the same thing over and over again; he’s boring.

Well, that’s your prerogative. But he doesn’t just WRITE horror. Sure, he’s best known for his horror. But he also writes wonderful fantasy (The Dark Tower series; Eyes of the Dragon) and books with a sci-fi bent (11/22/63, The Tommyknockers.) He also writes non-fiction (his On Writing is really wonderful for anyone interested in writing anything, ever) and short stories, some of which are horror, sure, but some are not. Not at all.

This also covers the “same thing over and over” argument. No, he doesn’t. Does he tend to cover the scarier things in the world? Yes. Of course he does. But they’re not the same. Not at all. You haven’t read more than a couple of his books if you think that.

I don’t read that kind of trash.

This makes me ragiest. Don’t call other people’s books trash. I don’t like the Twilight books, but I don’t call them trash and make a face like I smelled a dead skunk under my porch. I hated that Fifty Shades nonsense, but if a friend came to me and was all “BEST THING EVER ZOMG,” I wouldn’t make a face and say “YOU ARE A TRASHY TRASHERSON.” I might nicely say, “I didn’t like that,” but I wouldn’t make them feel BAD about liking it. That is rude. Don’t do that.

Book snobs (or any sort of media snobs) make me angry. You like what you like, you dislike what you dislike – but you don’t need to make your friends and loved ones feel shitty about what they enjoy. You’re being a joy-sucker when you do that. Do you want to be a joy-sucker? Do you really? There’s so little joy in the world that you need to remove MORE of it? No. The answer to that is no, you don’t.

Also, the man’s won multiple awards. Check here if you don’t believe me. Most shocking? The National Book Award in 2003. People were SO UPSET about that one. There was a lot of talk of “dumbing down the NBA for popular authors” and such. I was just pleased. Because the man deserved it. He works hard. And his books are good, dammit. Really, really good.

King and his wife Tabitha at the National Book Awards. By the way, I love them. Just so you know.

(Also, his books have sold more than 350 million copies as of the writing of this post, making him the 19th bestselling author of all time. OF ALL TIME, you guys. Like, in ALL OF RECORDED BOOKSELLING HISTORY. That’s something, right?)

That’s popular stuff. Popular stuff is never good.

Well, it’s sometimes good, and sometimes it’s just popular, and sometimes the twain don’t meet, you know how that works. But sometimes good books make the popular list. King’s books are good, and they make the list. It doesn’t mean they’re bad. It just means they’re popular. Don’t discount them just because everyone else is reading them. That makes you a hipster, and do you really want to be a hipster? Do you really? Because a common synonym for hipster is douche. Just saying.

Hipster! Fingerguns! WINNING!

THOSE BOOKS ARE FILTHY!

Sorry, Mom. Yeah, he likes cussing. And sex. Not more than the average writer, but I learned a LOT of my naughtiest vocab (and, again, sorry, Mom, but the beginnings of my sex knowledge, until I got a little more…um…hands-on?) from King books read on the sly in junior high.

But, everyone who’s not my mom? They’re really not all that filthy. They’re actually quite tame, compared to some of the things I’ve read in the world. Your delicate sensibilities will not be compromised. I promise.

So, yeah. I get it if he’s not your thing. I’m not going to force you to read them; I’m not even going to pressure you. I think he’s amazing, but you know, do your thing, jellybeans. But don’t give me THE FACE. Don’t even. It makes me stabby. And I have a pair of scissors within arms’ length at all times. For this very situation. DON’T MAKE ME USE THEM.

Reading Rage Tuesday: Where does fan fiction stop and stealing begin?

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... the unknown sci-fi fan!

Photo not really related; I couldn’t find a topical one and I liked this one. SPACE PATROL

We’ve discussed fan fiction here in the comments before, and I have to be honest that I have mixed feelings about it. Oh, I understand the compulsion to write fan fiction, even to share it with communities of like-minded individuals. I think we all come to the altar of creativity having been led by the hands of the works that inspired us and touched us (sometimes in naughty places, as E.L. James might tell you). Some authors welcome fan fiction; they love that people are so pumped about reading their books that they want to spend more time with the characters. Others feel uneasy, or outright prohibit fan fiction (at least, prohibit it from being shared); while I think taking a hard line on fan fiction might come across as a bit dickish, I can wholly empathize with the authors. I think it would kind of be like hearing a woman ask your kids to call her “Mommy” and then play pretend family. I can imagine the frustration of having strangers take the characters that one has worked so hard to create and use them, for good or ill.

Still, I really have no qualms about the fan fiction universe–or at least, I didn’t. Maybe I don’t personally groove on it, but I tend to have a live-and-let-live attitude about a lot of things that I don’t personally dig. Sports, for example–sure, some aspects of sports tick me off, like having the entire city I live in freaking out during football season, or having my favorite shows put on hiatus to air the Olympics, but by and large, I don’t get my knickers in a twist about it. Fan fiction has been the same, until sj linked me this Kickstarter and I really started to ponder it.

The Kickstarter project, started by a gent named Adam VillaSenor and a group of Harry Potter fans, is a webseries called Sirius Black and the Secret Keeper. It’s a prequel to the Harry Potter series, set during the first war, focusing on Sirius as the main character. Sirius happens to be my personal favorite character in the HP universe; I howled when he died, so I completely understand and approve of the desire to expand on his backstory. I wouldn’t probably watch it, since I don’t do fan fiction, but I think it’s a neat idea and that a lot of people would probably enjoy it.

The thorn in my side about this is the Kickstarter.

VillaSenor set the original Kickstarter goal at $10,000, but in the text, the real goal is revealed to be $105,000. (The project failed funding, so they won’t be receiving any money at all.) They do claim in the notes that they will not be receiving a profit from this, but they don’t outline what the money will go toward specifically. If any of that KS money had gone to buy equipment that they kept afterward, like cameras or computer programs or even computer equipment, well, couldn’t one consider that having profited off of the series in assets gained? Would the actors be paid, and would that be considered profit made from the series? Could the rewards, some of which were tangible items based off of the Harry Potter universe, be considered to be “sold” and the money made from them profit? I tend to think of Kickstarter projects as being pre-sales a lot of the time, and I’m not sure that one could argue that the “rewards” are really different than selling items/services for a profit–the profit being the money left for the project after the last of the rewards has been shipped off. Troublesome. Either of those figures is quite a bit of scratch to be changing hands to produce a fan fiction web series, especially one that doesn’t even officially license the characters.

The case of E.L. James is a successful example of profitable fan fiction. The word around the blogosphere is that they didn’t change anything but the names and other Twilight-specific information when they published Fifty Shades; the concepts and characters were still directly ripped off of Twilight, tweaked just enough not to be sued, I suppose. Is this okay, to be profitable–and so wildly profitable–when the entire work is nakedly derivative of another person’s creative work? How many degrees of separation should one have from an original “inspiration” when publishing fan fiction?

I don’t like this, truly. It makes me uneasy, for several reasons. One, I see both of these projects as potentially being theft. I’m all for fans expressing themselves, but when money starts to change hands based on that expression, I think that steps have to be taken either to license the characters officially or make the work a unique creative work. The second thing that perturbs me is that E.L. James’s project was legitimized by being picked up by an actual publisher, despite the shady premise under which it came into being. I haven’t read the books and I may have this part wrong, but I’ve read in several places that “Edward” becoming “Christian” was a simple matter of search and replace; I, frankly, expect better of the publishing industry–especially as it’s the same industry taking measures to try to prevent piracy, including supporting highly questionable bills like SOPA and PIPA, not to mention making buying ebooks a pain in the ass because they insist on proprietary formats and DRM. Yet, when it comes to publishers making money? Sure, we can rip off Twilight; it’s hugely popular and we should take advantage. Fail.

Mind you, I think Twilight is garbage, but Meyer is still allowed proprietary rights over her own creation, even if I’d almost rather stab my eyeballs out than read it.

I think this is one reason I have become a proud supporter of small press books. I see publishers becoming more about trend and less about creativity; that’s their right, of course–they can run their businesses however they choose. I, on the other hand, choose to support presses that look for originality and quality above making a quick profit off of blatant derivation.

I’m still torn over the issue of fan fiction. As a fan, I don’t want to read it, even if the author officially sanctions it. Stephen King allowed a Dark Tower comic/graphic novel to be produced; I read the first two issues, but it didn’t seem right to me. King birthed the universe of the series in his head, and for me, he’s the gatekeeper of that world. Reading the auxiliary materials, I felt like I was watching a kid put on daddy’s tie and play dress-up, wearing shoes that were too big, their hands swallowed by shirt sleeves a tad too long. Unsanctioned fiction appeals even less to me in most cases; still, I don’t quite begrudge it . . . until money gets involved, and then, I’m peeved.

What do you guys think about fan fiction? Am I being too hard on it? Too easy? Do you read (or write) it? Talk to me in the comments!

 

Reading Rage Tuesday: The most depressing books I’ve ever read.

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Depressed spaceman

This photo is called “Depressed Spaceman.” I LIKE SPACE

So, booksluttians, I have not been feeling well lately. I wasn’t entirely sure I was going to have the energy to write this post today, and I’m still not entirely sure that I won’t just give up halfway through and leave you mid-sentence because I ran out of steam. BUT I’M TRYING DAMMIT.

I’ve been depressed lately. Well, really, for like six years now, I’ve been more or less depressed. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve spent a good half of my life depressed. (It’s fun to be me.) Recently, though, it’s been worse than usual. Most of what I have been up to consists of laying on the couch and wanting to eat Baconators. Allie Brosh captured the feeling pretty well:

The only thing missing from this illustration is a Baconator.

I’ve also been completely uninspired when it comes to the Reading Rages–not so much because there’s no material, but because I can’t work up a good rage these days. That takes way more energy than I can tap into. Is this writer’s block? I’m too depressed even to be mad that I have writer’s block. Oh, my stats are in the toilet because I haven’t been writing? I better have some nuggets with my Baconator. And maybe a Frosty.

MAYBE FOUR FROSTIES

So I thought this morning, hey, why don’t I funnel this depression into a reading rage somehow? Moping around is almost like raging, but with less energy. Both require a sort of dark fatalism that I have in the bag, yo. With a side of fries.

THE MOST DEPRESSING BOOKS I HAVE EVER READ

Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes

I’ve talked about this book before in the top five books that turned me into a crybaby. I never said this was going to be all-new material, and in fact, it probably won’t be. It takes energy to think up new shit.

Flowers is a book that I can actually no longer read because it makes me cry and cry, and then cry and cry, and then–wait for it–cry. If you haven’t read it, you probably should if you like crying. It’s about a man named Charlie (if you’ve seen the film Charly, that’s the same story) who is developmentally disabled. Charlie undergoes a radical experiment that would never have gotten into the human testing stages because, ethics; the experiment, heretofore only tested on lab mice, is designed to increase intelligence. It works crazy-well, taking Charlie from disabled to genius in a relatively short time. He spends the majority of the book in isolation, first not bright enough to understand the world, and then so bright that the world doesn’t understand him.

Then? The experiment fails. Charlie reverts, and that plunge back toward his beginning state is one of the most depressing things I’ve ever read in all of literature. Charlie is distraught during the process. He’s trying desperately to hang on to just a little bit–something–to remember. He forgets everything, of course. I spent most of the second part of the book wailing my eyes off. I’m sure part of the moral of the story was that he was happy enough before, and not so happy when he was a supergenius (I haven’t read the book in years because, did I mention I cry?), but–there’s also the reader’s experience. A lot of people who read for pleasure have not-so-low IQs. Despite not having participated in risky experiments, the thought that I could lose all of my intelligence depresses the almighty crap out of me. Charlie’s panic to hang onto just a few morsels of his new intelligence cements the feeling.

 A Cook’s Tour by Anthony Bourdain

“But Susie,” you’re saying. “You LOVE Anthony Bourdain.” You’re right, I do love Anthony Bourdain. He’s a hell of a writer and a badass to boot. When he talked about quitting smoking in Medium Raw, his basic defense against a legion of fans who loved him for being a drinking, smoking bad boy was “Yeah, I quit–I did it because I have a kid now and I’m making decisions for my family’s best interest. If you don’t like it, go fuck yourself.” (Paraphrased, of course.) I basically idolize Bourdain, as much as I idolize anybody, which is not that much.

The reason that I count A Cook’s Tour among my most depressing books is that it’s personally depressing. It’s depressing because I will never have his job. I would get divorced to have his job. (No, really. Okay, maybe not really, but I would think about it.) I have a love-hate relationship with Bourdain and No Reservations because of a deep-seated, abiding state of intense jealousy. I will never get to go to Vietnam. I will never get to bum around Old Havana and look at the beautiful architecture. I’ve barely even been out of the U.S. Being poor does not lend itself well to travel, but that doesn’t keep me from wanting to do ALL THE TRAVELING.

Also? I have this thing where I get a weepy when I read about Mexico. I love Mexico and I miss it. Between having moved to Ohio and all of the beheadings and whatnot happening down there, I imagine it will be a long time before I visit again. (I rather enjoy having a head. Maybe that’s just me?) Knowing that I’m so cut off from one of my favorite places puts me in a grumpy mood; reading about how awesome it is puts me in an even grumpier mood.

 Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller

Willy Loman is a hot mess. He gets fired from his job. His sons don’t show him any respect. His attempt to live vicariously through Biff fails utterly when Biff turns out to be as unsuccessful as Willy is. He also appears to be going senile. Willy tries to redeem himself, and Biff, in the best way he knows how: he crashes his car and kills himself in the end, in the hopes that Biff will use the insurance money to start his own business. Only Biff doesn’t even want to start his own business, so it was all for nothing. Depressing.

I would write more, but this post is interfering with my laying on the couch time.

Sorry. I know, this post was short and even less happy than usual. My husband has been bugging me all morning and now I’m depressed and annoyed and I don’t feel like writing now. Also, I keep clicking things that are screwing up my browser and it’s pissing me off. MY FINGERS ARE TOO FAT FOR TYPING.

This post doesn’t have to be over, though. Nay! You can pop down into the comments and tell me what books depressed you the most. Which books did you barely have the energy to chuck across the room when you were done? Which books made you cry and cry because they were just so damn sad? If you can’t think of any, tell me the most fun thing you did last week.

Just so this post doesn’t end on a completely depressing note:

BAM, kittens.

UPDATE

So, first–I’m sorry if comments are being held for moderation. Apparently, when Jetpack updated and changed over my commenting system (which, I also apologize if it’s loading slow–it loads kinda slow for me and I haven’t looked deeply into how to disable it yet), it apparently reset everyone’s approval. Once you post a comment and get approved, it should be okay? I haven’t changed my moderation settings; I’m not suddenly trying to censor anybody.

Also, this happened on my way to puppy-sitting. We all knew it would:

FROSTY