I am drug down by the sensation that I'm beating my head against the Great Wall of American popular culture, which seems absolutely impervious to books about serious subjects.
But the pain of authorship is all the worse when I know in my heart of hearts that I have written a very good book. I know that I have done justice to my subject. I have done justice to the ordinary people whose stories I have told. I have done justice to the notion that some readers really do care, and are willing to open their eyes wide to reality rather than be put to sleep by the Huxleyan drug of American Idol and Paris Hilton.
Oh, by the way. I use big words sometimes and what some might call obscure literary references. I occasionally write in complex sentences, too. Maybe that's part of my problem.
But don't tell that to Amazon. Recently, the online bookseller installed a new feature on its website, presumably to allow its more anti-intellectual customers to keep their book purchases to a 6th grade reading level.
Meanwhile, a thousand splendid authors, working in relative obscurity, have written a thousand splendid books that you will never hear about. We splendid authors dwell on the dark side of the publishing world, clinging to our precious bones of good news....
Gosh! I just couldn't stop quoting! I hope Peter Sacks will be bringing he charm offensive to my town so I can cluck my tongue over blogs and Paris Hilton during his inevitable NPR interview.
Now I feel all guilty about the post I was going to write today about the comic books I've been reading and "pornface."
seen via bookslut.