Bestsellers
Am I the only one that’s tired of the quirkiness? Have the subjects of both prose and poetry been so thoroughly explored that writers are left only with the option of using odd syntax and run-on sentences and mixed metaphors to explore them again?
I began reading a book this week called Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. It’s supposed to be really good according to my friends and The New York Times and the Kindle Store and the iBooks Store - pretty much everyone, right? But when I started reading, I realized that it was more akin to James Joyce’s Ulysses than to a modern bestseller. Admittedly I only made it through the first few dozen pages, but shouldn’t a bestseller be the type of book that I love from the first page and not have to force myself to keep reading with the hope that the writer calms down and strings together some coherent linear thoughts?
If I wanted to read something challenging I would have picked up The Piazza by Herman Melville. I most certainly wouldn’t have browsed through the Top Selling section at my local bookstore. That’s where the purely enjoyable reads should be; things like biographies of famous people (not obscure people), stories about heroine archers, court dramas or commentary on current affairs.
I’m reading, have been since October, the epic biography of Steve Jobs. It’s written simply and relates little-known stories to actual things I know about from an objective perspective. It’s exactly what a bestselling biography should be.
Last Fall I read the Mockingjay trilogy. It was exciting and suspenseful with a dose of romance and science fiction. The protagonist was an actual hero, with fatal flaws that were overcome amidst adversity. It’s exactly what a bestselling adventure fiction should be.
After Thanksgiving I read My Wife’s Story. It’s a short story about a man whose wife tells the same story all the time. He eventually grows tired of it and decides that he has to do something to stop her from telling it. The ending has a delicious twist that actually made me laugh audibly in a public place. It’s exactly what a bestselling short story should be.
At the very least, there should be a new category of bestsellers for the quirky ones. This is the section that my hipster friends would gravitate toward and my mom would avoid like an awkward conversation. And people like me could peruse it on melancholy days or while sipping a triple espresso in a dark local coffee shop.
