Literary Snobs Looking for Love
Posted on Wednesday August 2, 2006 at 12:41pm.
Thanks to Frank Wilson, I read this story in the Guardian Unlimited about people judging in a romantic way and even flirting with people based on the books they are reading in bookstores and elsewhere. I'm sure lots of us judge people by the books on display in their homes (or the lack thereof), by the books they tell us they're currently reading, or even by the music they listen to or movies they like. Maybe judge isn't the right word. It could just be curiosity. If you're like me, when you see someone reading a book, you want to know what it is. Maybe the curiosity has an element of judgment in it, or for some is a pathetic sort of self-esteem boosting, or is just a search for kindred souls. The Guardian Unlimited article focused on the flirting aspect. That I don't do. I am not trying to find a date based on reading preferences. There was a time, though...
I was going on a first date with a woman who lived near Philadelphia. I lived in Manhattan, and we shared a couple of phone calls before the date, though we had briefly met in person, so it wasn't blind. We knew little about each other. The person who gave me her number had told this woman that I was a writer (at the time I had a couple of published stories, an unpublished novel, and an MFA degree). During our first phone conversation, she asked me, innocently enough, if I'd read any Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I liked Marquez (still do), but what mattered was that she didn't ask me if I'd read any James Patterson. I was more militant about my literature back then--if she'd wanted to know if I shared her appreciation for a hack, I would have looked forward to the first date with less enthusiasm. I don't know if I would have canceled it, but that she enjoyed a good book was definitely a plus. I wasn't that big a literary snob--if she wasn't kind, didn't look good or have a sense of humor, or couldn't hold up her end of a witty conversation, we wouldn't be approaching our seventh wedding anniversary, no matter what she liked to read.
I’m less a literary snob now, have been cured to some extent of the MFA affliction. That someone enjoys a fluffy book here and there doesn’t mean anything to me. Some of the people I’m closest to in the world wouldn’t know a good book if it fell on them. Some of them have a better chance of having a book--any book--fall on them than actually reading one. Plenty of people read nothing but good books and are miserable ignoramuses. And plenty of books that are anointed good, by people in a position to be anointing things, suck. Anyway, I don’t object to a good thriller or a beach read. My wife enjoys a diversionary novel as much as anyone. Still, as a writer, I’m glad that I married someone who read The Life of Pi and, despite really liking it, was concerned about the ending enough to make me read it to see if I would have the same problem she did. (I did.) She isn’t a writer (she’s a teacher), but delights in finding the one false note, a skill I have come to value. Not that I was hoping to marry an editor, but when so much of your life is devoted to writing novels, it’s nice to share that life with someone who knows when one is good.
I was going on a first date with a woman who lived near Philadelphia. I lived in Manhattan, and we shared a couple of phone calls before the date, though we had briefly met in person, so it wasn't blind. We knew little about each other. The person who gave me her number had told this woman that I was a writer (at the time I had a couple of published stories, an unpublished novel, and an MFA degree). During our first phone conversation, she asked me, innocently enough, if I'd read any Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I liked Marquez (still do), but what mattered was that she didn't ask me if I'd read any James Patterson. I was more militant about my literature back then--if she'd wanted to know if I shared her appreciation for a hack, I would have looked forward to the first date with less enthusiasm. I don't know if I would have canceled it, but that she enjoyed a good book was definitely a plus. I wasn't that big a literary snob--if she wasn't kind, didn't look good or have a sense of humor, or couldn't hold up her end of a witty conversation, we wouldn't be approaching our seventh wedding anniversary, no matter what she liked to read.
I’m less a literary snob now, have been cured to some extent of the MFA affliction. That someone enjoys a fluffy book here and there doesn’t mean anything to me. Some of the people I’m closest to in the world wouldn’t know a good book if it fell on them. Some of them have a better chance of having a book--any book--fall on them than actually reading one. Plenty of people read nothing but good books and are miserable ignoramuses. And plenty of books that are anointed good, by people in a position to be anointing things, suck. Anyway, I don’t object to a good thriller or a beach read. My wife enjoys a diversionary novel as much as anyone. Still, as a writer, I’m glad that I married someone who read The Life of Pi and, despite really liking it, was concerned about the ending enough to make me read it to see if I would have the same problem she did. (I did.) She isn’t a writer (she’s a teacher), but delights in finding the one false note, a skill I have come to value. Not that I was hoping to marry an editor, but when so much of your life is devoted to writing novels, it’s nice to share that life with someone who knows when one is good.