My Snobby Side

In today's New York Times, Joe Queenan wrote an essay called "Why Not the Worst?" about why he loves reading bad books. During most of the time I was reading the essay, I was thinking, I usually love Joe Queenan, but this argument is idiotic.

After all, I am one of those snobby readers who would never sink so low as to pick up a copy of The DaVinci Code. And this week it took every ounce of strength I had to smile and thank a coworker who, after telling me she noticed that I always had a book, presented me with a gift of a Richard North Patterson thriller she loves. I spent a good hour feeling miserable that now I'm actually going to have to read this book because it is the polite thing to do. And it was only a few years ago that friends forced me to read The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks. Their punishment for doing this was having to reread the sections I had edited, recieving print-outs of what I deemed to be the worst sentence ever written, and listening to me rant every time I got the opportunity.

So, yes, I am one of those people Joe Queenan describes as reading only good books and thinking it makes me better than everyone else. (More of the former than the latter.) As I was reading, though, I realized that I'm slightly hypocritical in this area. Indeed, I have no shame admitting that I watch American Idol every week, enjoy People magazine, and have Ashlee Simpson music on my ipod.

By the end of Queenan's essay, I was willing to admit that he had a somewhat good point. And while I will probably always do everything in my power to avoid "bad" books, I will at least try not to scoff so much when I see someone else enjoying one.