Once upon a time, I used to love going to bookshops. To a geek child like me, they were better than any sweet shop - a million different adventures, all fresh and new and featuring that great 'new book' smell.
But when I walked into my local chain store yesterday, that feeling was long gone. What greeted me could be summed up by the following categories:
> Inane crime 'thrillers', where a bland serial killer murders people for no real reason and has some random callsign, like leaving a packet of Skips on each body. The killer is tracked down in an inept fashion by a grizzled detective who drinks, smokes, takes drugs and beats small dogs with a cane.
> Autobiographies of 17-year-old footballers, celebrities I've never heard of, and people who should have died decades ago.
> Cook books. Millions of sodding cook books.
> Chicklit. I've admittedly never fully read a chicklit book, and have read some highly entertaining chapters from writers on sites such as Authonomy, but the ones that line the bestsellers shelves just look eye-gougingly awful.
Now I get my books from the library, where titles from lesser-known authors can often be found. The only problem is, sniff them all you want, they don't have that new book smell any more...
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Your description of autobiographies rocks! Remember when they used to publish autobiographies about interesting people who'd done interesting things? Now we have 'models' in their early 30's who are on their fourth volume.
ReplyDeleteRidiculous, isn't it? To be a celebrity these days, the last thing you need is talent. Usually all it takes is a lack of dignity and a vat of latex. Life sure is funny.
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