Never judge a book by its reputation

Visitors to my apartment often comment on the number of books I own. I'm used to it. While growing up, I often heard my mom complain that we would all have to move out of the house soon, just so we could accommodate my library. That day hasn't arrived. Yet. I'm guessing my move to the States has something to do with averting that tragedy. But I tend to go overboard with book-shopping, I admit. Hence, the resolution to become more of a book-borrower (yay for the BU library and the Boston Public Library!) and less of a book-buyer (Barnes and Noble, I'm breaking up with you.)

But that's not what I wanted to say. I digress.

A friend came over recently and made the customary you-have-so-many books comment (which on some occasions is also the you-have-way-too-many-books comment). She sat down in front of my pretty black shelf, and started scanning the titles. Then her gaze seemed to fix itself on one, and literally, I saw her expression change. Her eyes popped out and her face took on an aura of utter disgust and contempt. She turned to me, her finger pointing, but not touching the cursed book, and snapped: Yuck! Why on earth would you read that?!? She was appalled. I would have laughed at her contorted face had I not been the recipient of The Look.

She was pointing to a completely senseless, no-brainer, chick lit kind of book lent to me by M. "For your long flight back to the States. Don't worry, is mein dimaag nahin lagaana padta, aaraam se padna," were my instructions. She was right. It was a pretty random book, and I don't mean that in a good or a bad way. It was random. Forgettable. Ordinary. You get the drift.


Snap back to the present. So this enraged friend, she had heard about the book. She knew it was "chick lit." She knew what it was about. But had she read it? Nnnnope. Yet, she was quick to point out how that book just didn't "belong" next to Saki, Doris Lessing, Anita Nair, Nick Hornby, John Steinbeck and Premchand. They were distinguished, respected and superior. Agreed. That book was useless anyway.

What is my point? No, it's not that people should read books before pronouncing judgment -- that's obvious. But it's this: what's wrong with chick lit? (I'll admit I'm probably not its best defender since I haven't read any, barring this one example.) In fact, let me rephrase that: Why should I avoid reading something because it's considered "intellectually shallow" (and I'm borrowing this phrase from someone)? What does that even mean? Am I supposed to judge a book by its reputation instead of what's actually written in it?

I agree some books are highly superior for some reason or the other: Marquez for redefining a whole genre of writing, Shamsie for the absolute magic that her books are or Dickens for the absolute despair he can make you feel. I agree these people are universally and highly respected, and justifiably so. But that's not going to make me stop reading random authors. Simply because there's more to  book than (a) the author's reputation, or the lack thereof, and (b) the general perception about its genre.

The only exception to this rule? Mills and Boons. I judge people who read MBs. I read one when I was 14, I think. I barfed after the first 27 words. But even that has more to do with my utter dislike for them rather than how "uncool" (or maybe cool now? 14 was a long time ago) it is to be even seen with one.

My point, in a nutshell, is this. Why get so caught up in how we're supposed to react to something, based on its reputation? Go try it and if you don't like it, fair enough, you never have to look at it again. But judge it on its worth, not what it means to the rest of the world. For all my indifferent criticism of the aforementioned book, it made me laugh at certain points. Now, that's worth something, right?

Seriously. Let's drop the high hat. It just gets in the way of what can be fun. A different kind of fun, but fun nevertheless. *

Never judge a book by its reputation