The "I Love Books" brigade is driving me crazy
In the spirit of curmudgeonly Monday . . .
I am sick to death of people who loudly and repeatedly tell the world about their passion for books.
The series of photos labeled "Library Porn" that's currently making its way around the Internet is just the latest example of this self-congratulatory nonsense.
It's a shame because it really does contain some lovely photos, but I'm afraid I was saturated years ago by the "I love books" series of t-shirts and tote bags that proclaimed their wearers' deep and abiding need to be surrounded by books. I've had to read way too many chests that boasted of incurable bibliophilia, and way too many badly calligraphed, environmentally sensitive, unbleached cotton tote bags reminding me that Thomas Jefferson could not live without books.
In the same vein, one of Dorothy Parker's characters breathlessly confesses that she just LOVES flowers. The narrator snidely observes (I'm paraphrasing) that the poor character is laughable and pathetic if she thinks this characteristic sets her apart from the herd.
And I feel the same way about the braying bibliophiles. Most of the ones I've run into spend more time emoting about loving books, needing books, being unable to breathe unless they're surrounded by books, than they do reading or discussing actual books.
Besides the cringe-inducing self-consciousness associated with the offhanded allusion to your wonderfulness because you love books, the premise of the thing is way too broad. Why are you special--who DOESN'T love books?
But WHAT books--Victorian fiction? Early 20th-century drama? Auto repair manuals? Hymnals? Illustrated children's books from the 1950s? Literary criticism? Do you cling to your dog-eared P.G. Wodehouse paperbacks? And don't tell me "all of them--they all fascinate me--they're ALL my dearest friends." That's way too facile, in addition to being nauseating. (It also tells me you're not reading at depth.)
You want to tell the world how erudite you are? You want admiration on a massive scale? You want that Barbara Tuchman "humanity in print" t-shirt to really mean something? Fine, terrific. There are several ways of scaling that mountain.
But first, shut UP about loving books and go home and READ ONE. Read it well, read it thoroughly, read it several times. Then share it --the book itself--its themes, its characters, its settings, its artistic/political/social value. H*ll, if it was a dog and you hated it, share THAT.
But please, for the love of God, stop telling the world what a rara avis you are because you love books.
I am sick to death of people who loudly and repeatedly tell the world about their passion for books.
The series of photos labeled "Library Porn" that's currently making its way around the Internet is just the latest example of this self-congratulatory nonsense.
It's a shame because it really does contain some lovely photos, but I'm afraid I was saturated years ago by the "I love books" series of t-shirts and tote bags that proclaimed their wearers' deep and abiding need to be surrounded by books. I've had to read way too many chests that boasted of incurable bibliophilia, and way too many badly calligraphed, environmentally sensitive, unbleached cotton tote bags reminding me that Thomas Jefferson could not live without books.
In the same vein, one of Dorothy Parker's characters breathlessly confesses that she just LOVES flowers. The narrator snidely observes (I'm paraphrasing) that the poor character is laughable and pathetic if she thinks this characteristic sets her apart from the herd.
And I feel the same way about the braying bibliophiles. Most of the ones I've run into spend more time emoting about loving books, needing books, being unable to breathe unless they're surrounded by books, than they do reading or discussing actual books.
Besides the cringe-inducing self-consciousness associated with the offhanded allusion to your wonderfulness because you love books, the premise of the thing is way too broad. Why are you special--who DOESN'T love books?
But WHAT books--Victorian fiction? Early 20th-century drama? Auto repair manuals? Hymnals? Illustrated children's books from the 1950s? Literary criticism? Do you cling to your dog-eared P.G. Wodehouse paperbacks? And don't tell me "all of them--they all fascinate me--they're ALL my dearest friends." That's way too facile, in addition to being nauseating. (It also tells me you're not reading at depth.)
You want to tell the world how erudite you are? You want admiration on a massive scale? You want that Barbara Tuchman "humanity in print" t-shirt to really mean something? Fine, terrific. There are several ways of scaling that mountain.
But first, shut UP about loving books and go home and READ ONE. Read it well, read it thoroughly, read it several times. Then share it --the book itself--its themes, its characters, its settings, its artistic/political/social value. H*ll, if it was a dog and you hated it, share THAT.
But please, for the love of God, stop telling the world what a rara avis you are because you love books.
posted by jillsifer | August 28, 2009
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