Dear Idiots (this is, according to gaelikaa, how I treat you, my cherished handful of readers of this particular blog, ie members of the consortium and entourage),
Do not dismiss being an idiot out of hand. It’s a perfect disguise allowing you to behave in ways and to say things which will slip underneath the radar of those without imagination. Just as every family has at least one black sheep (if in woolf’s clothing) so every community does need their village idiot to function in harmony. Admittedly one [idiot] is welcome, several make a crowd.
Linking back to your last Friday: It is most unbecoming to boast about the number of books your shelves are groaning under; all it indicates is that most of them you will not have read and/or given time to contemplate. I was fascinated by the claim some of you make that you read. I’d have never have guessed. Really? Few people who have learnt how to scribble the odd line do not read, even if it’s only the back of your cereal box. What do you want: A medal? And let me tell a few of you, and you know who you are: Reading books does not make you superior; neither, gaelikaa, does quantity make you an eccentric.
Magpie always throws an unusual angle on a subject rather than preening himself. Grannymar’s offering was refreshing: How many times do you come across someone who freely and happily admits to not reading that much – and standing by it? I salute you, GM. And, as you say, a (note)book with blank pages, to be filled by yourself, can make fascinating reading tomorrow and years on; particularly, if like me, you haven’t got the faintest idea what all those cryptic notes were about.
That the good Con applauds that children, like the proverbial herd of sheep, read “Harry Potter” en masse makes me want to weep.
gaelikaa mentioned being given a challenging Mills & Boon to review. gaelikaa, just because it was given to you for free does not mean you have to be “nice”. A critic’s first obligation is not to the writer or the publisher but to the reader who might or might not buy a book on a recommendation he trusts.
As perversions go, ie dog earing pages, underlining and all other sorts of defilements (yes, Ginger) or Maria’s questionable joy of reading a book in a hot steaming bath I suppose it could be worse: A friend of mine uses them as doorstoppers or throws them at cats and dogs when caught using her front garden as their toilet. A more gentle soul leaves the unreadable on a park bench in the hope that it’ll rain any time soon.
So, please, may some of you now go and hate me for two minutes.