Books (1 of 2)

In the comments to the entry below, our new pal Liz says "I probably read crap compared to you."

Heh.

I read a lot for my job.  A lot.  Vast quantities of paperwork.  And so, when I do read for fun, I generally read crap.  Crap of the highest order.  Crap that is so crappy, I am sometimes embarrassed that people actually see me with these books in my hands.  (Now I know why my mom puts her books in a little bookcover when she reads them.)

Well, no more.  To hell with shame.  Ladies and gents, I now present a journal entry on The Crap I Read.

I mostly like reading stuff in three genres:  mystery, fantasy, and science fiction.  (And I look pitiably on anyone who says fantasy and science fiction are the same, although some authors can overlap them.)  In each genre, I read the "chunky" kind, and the "crappy" kind.  As an extreme example, Arthur C. Clarke writes chunky science fiction -- you can really sink your teeth into his stuff.  Whereas, say, the "Red Dwarf" novels -- those are crap.  It isn't a statement on their quality -- they are actually quite a good read.  They're just, you know, fluff.  The literary equivalent of cotton candy.

So.  Things I have particularly enjoyed reading:

Mysteries: 
Chunky:  Caleb Carr's "The Alienist" and "The Angel of Darkness."
Crappy:  Katherine Neville's "The Eight," a long list of Sherlock Holmes pastiches, pretty much anything by Dick Francis
(Footnote -- Caleb Carr's "Killing Time" was crap in the other sense of the word.)