Books

When I was in elementary school, we used to get these flyers. They were cheapo newsprint in bright colors. It was a book catalogue for kids. It was broken up by genre or interest. It was pseudo mail order. You gave your money to the teacher, who placed the order. A few weeks later, the books were distributed. I was never deprived of books. Yard sales were gold mines of ‘choose your own adventure’, ‘encyclopedia brown’, the golden book encyclopedia, super facts, and other classics. I had more books than I could ever read. But the marketing worked on me. I yearned to get the books advertised in the flyer. I wanted a Garfield book. I wanted an action book. Eventually, sometime around 4th grade, I begged and wheedled enough to get a few books’ worth of cash out of mom and dad and I placed my order. A few weeks later I opened up my books and got a huge dose of disappointment. Garfield wasn’t funny. The ‘action’ book was short and particularly devoid of action. I’d been duped by marketing and the burn still shows scars. For the 4th of July, M and I headed down to the Cape for some Sun and RnR, and maybe get a book or two. The local library does an annual book sale where they give away the previous years’ donations. I shouldn’t say give away, because money changes hands, but it’s basically giving the books away. Last time we were there it was held in a small 2 floor building. It was raining, humid and amazingly crowded. Lusty bookworms stacked armloads of pulp mysteries and nebbish old men pored over technical manuals from 30 years ago. It was a madhouse. I dreaded going back. This year, however, it was outdoors, under tents and sun. There was plenty of room and the old book mildew stench passed with each breezy gust. The tables are loosely sorted by genre or paperback/hardcover. As I pored over the titles, it dawned on me. The flyers from 4th grade. They must still exist somewhere, because these tables were covered in all the same questionable books, albeit geared towards adults. I cannot count the number of books that I loved that I have re-read. Why? Because I never do it. I can, however remember how many books I have loved that I tossed away: zero. So what books are tossed away, literary driftwood to wash ashore in a new shelf and get new life? From the looks of it, every John Grisham book ever written. Ditto Tom Clancy, Jonathan Kellerman, Dick Francis, Clive Cussler and Michael Crichton. I can’t say I’m surprised. I admit, The Firm was decent. A new author, a new genre, a great beach read. Then I read his next book, it was also about a well intentioned lawyer in a bind, with no one to trust, escaping by his wits. The next book seemed like ti was headed that way, and I stopped. Tom Clancy –favorite author of my young adulthood. Writing about the big bad Russians, dashing CIA agents and shady covert operatives. 900 page monsters jammed with ‘sensitive’ information on the latest weapons and tactics. He made spycraft seem interesting. The he started writing about the president shooting down missiles and blowing up the superbowl… his grasp of reality gave way to the need to sell books and I can tell people lost interest. The tables were filled with most of his later works. Fans of early Jack Ryan suckered into buying co-authored Op-center novelettes and snoozy China what-if scenarios. Jonathan Kellerman and Clive Cussler, I can’t say much here. Never read anything by you. Dick Francis supposedly writes ‘funny’ detective stories, always centered around horse racing, or so it seems by the cover art. I tried one of these once and couldn’t deal with it. Michael Crichton, R.I.P, was another great author of my youth. I remember getting Rising Sun from the pay section of the library. You actually had to rent the in-demand titles at one time, maybe you still do. Anyway, I read it in one night. Jurassic Park, Disclosure, Andromeda Strain, even Congo. Excellent. Somewhere around 1994 he lost his fastball and I sort of gave up. I did rip through State of Fear in an airport, to see if he still had it, but not really. Now I know this all sounds harsh. I’m not doing hatchet jobs on anyone here. Maybe I should be giving these guys credit for selling such an insane number of books that people are just giving them away. After all, I would much rather have a table full of my books at a used book sale than none of my books. I vent my frustration here because the books I like weren’t there, or at least as much as I had hoped. Carl Hiassen – I love these airport bookshelf staples. There were a total of three Hiassen books for sale under the tents, and I’d read both titles. I managed to find a Tom Wolfe book, a John Irving, maybe some others. I even found an older Gary Larson collection of Far Side comics. I can’t say I loved The Far Side. I will say that I love The Far Side, present tense. Ten or more years after he retired, it’s still laugh out loud funny. I never realized how sick and demented his humor was. One Gary Larson book tossed in with piles of Garfield collections. I told you that cat was never funny.