Where is my literary dignity?

It is a fleeting and cruel mistress. I have never really understood why people are so much snootier about what they read then about what they watch. I mean, people admit to watching American Idol and Big Brother and those stupid reality TV shows on MTV all of the time without a hint of embarrassment, but you pull a romance off the shelf in Kroeger out of sheer boredom and somehow you are less of a reader because you read anything you can get your hands on.

I'm guilty of it. I glance at what people are reading in the coffee shop or the bus and I make some pretty harsh judgments about their intellect and their taste. I have so many friends that are purists or writers themselves- that always seem to be reading from the lists you should be reading from. You know, a little Faulkner, Hemingway, Steinbeck, Austen, Orwell, Fitzgerald, Homer, Tolstoy Fest... all those books you are supposed to read before you die. They are the best 50 or 100 or 1000 books of all time. And don't get me wrong, I love all of those authors. Some of my favorite books are classics. See? I'm doing it again. I'm trying to prove I have literary street cred. I'm a good little reader, honest.

It is probably another reason I love the Kindle so much. I don't have to front, I just get to read. I can read whatever I want, whenever I want and no one glances at my book cover and thinks less of me. Wow, I didn't realize I had all of these reading insecurities.

But ultimately, reading is supposed to be a form of entertainment, right? And maybe the problem is that everyone is obsessed (at least in my circles) with the next great American (or not) novel is. Why read if it isn't the best or impressive or what everyone else is supposed to be reading? But I don't want to watch Casablanca or the African Queen or Singing in the Rain all of the time because they are great movies, classics. Some times, I want something dumb or trifling or only somewhat clever, but entertaining.

I only watch 2 or 3 TV shows a week. The rest of my mindless entertainment happens to be reading. And frankly, I don't want to read about politics, the labor movement, and social justice when I get home. I want the literary high that I jones for. I want that- I need to find out what happens, ponder the characters existence, is there another book in this series feeling- that I don't get with my methodical plodding through Steinbeck's Cannery Row (hands down one of my favorite books) or the dance I do with Faulkner's Barn Burning.

I know that I'm not alone. It just takes a quick glance at the NY Time's Bestseller list this week to know that not everyone is reading the classics or even something that wouldn't get you snorted at during a happy hour. I mean Chelsea Handler has 3 titles in the top 10 on the damn thing. And the hardcover bestseller is: SILVER BORNE, by Patricia Briggs. (In the fifth book starring Mercy Thompson, a shapeshifter and auto mechanic in Washington State, Mercy works on her relationship with the leader of the werewolf pack and helps a suicidal friend.) Now, I have never read Ms. Briggs, but my guess is that the urban fantasy genre is getting way more play than anyone is admitting.

So in the interest of full disclosure, I'm going to list my last 10 read- whether I have been too embarrassed to review them or admit to reading them:

Traveling Mercies (still reading) by Anne Lamott
Immortal in Death (still reading) by J.D. Robb
Gemini Tiger (still reading) by tommy jonq
Succubus Blues by Richelle Mead
Mind Games by Carolyn Crane
A Reliable Wife by Robert Goolrick
A Compromised Lady by Elizabeth Rolls
Dreamfever (reread) By Karen Marie Moning
A Bride in the Bargain by Deeane Gist
Utopia by Sir St Thomas Moore
Pride and Prejudice and Zoombies (reread) by Seth Grahame-Smith

Wow, I actually feel a little better. Thanks.