Five minutes ago, I was trying to sleep, and then I arrived at a strong hypothesis about why the wild success of Dan Brown or E.L. James make me mad.
That is beyond the usual petty jealousy of the me who always has had a vague desire to write, or the criticism about the quality of the writing itself – which doesn’t really count because I haven’t read enough by these two.
I think I am mostly angry with the readers, who seem to behave as if the current favourite has had an uniquely novel concept, or has invented a genre, or has actually invented the novel.
I mean, Da Vinci Code might have been a OKish plot, but did it have any other virtue. The big reveal, well, that had been tried elsewhere. Preacher, IIRC, had the Jesus bloodline as a slightly minor plot point.
And as for Fifty Shades, well I find that dysfunctional and abusive relations between professionally independent women and rich man has been, for some reason, always been popular. The structure is the very staple of M&B/ Harlequin books.
Anyway, as I mention, what I really find irritating is the vacuum within which the readers of these works seem to operate. My first instinct on finding a fascinating work in a new genre is to obsessively hunt for similar works. But, I don’t think most of the readers of Brown and James go on, for example, to read ‘The Story of O’.
So, I am just left with this desire to grind the faces of these readers on the library walls while screaming, ‘Read, you stupid mogrel. You liked that book, didn’t you, why the fuck won’t you read more.’