NEEDY READERS? GIVE THEM WHAT THEY WANT

What do needy readers want? Tastes change, fads come and go, but the top selling book of all time is pretty clear.

Across all platforms one book stands higher than all the rest. Do you need a hint? Think ‘Tale of Two Cities.’ Wait, that’s the title. Damn.

The big question: Is it worthy? What makes it worthy? Is it the first hundred or so words? Let’s check in.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

Is this intriguing, or what? No car chases or helicopter crashes. No dire circumstances described, or life and death in the breach. No inciting incident to kick things off.

Instead, Dickens goes into some sort of meditation. Two hundred million copies sold later shows the author knew, and still knows, how to entrance needy readers.

He could have written the same opening yesterday and captured our covid era.

A Modern Dickens

John Irving said he would have ended up as a copywriter if he had read Hemingway before Dickens in his formative years. Which explains how he goes so long in his books.

Irving could have said that to Hemingway’s face and triumphed in the ensuing fistfight, because them’s fightin’ words. If nothing else, UFC has shown that wrestlers win against strikers. Hemingway boxed, Irving wrestled, and the outcome is a foregone conclusion.

Sorry Papa, but you’re going down. Get your tapper ready.

I met a woman who gave an unusual flex. She said she’d read all of Dickens. I believed her after I saw her apartment. Full of books, in addition to all of Dickens. She was impressive, a needy reader who fulfilled the need, and still kept her place tidy.

We talked about books because I complained about the load I had humped from North Bend, Oregon to Philadelphia, back to Eugene, then out to New York and back to Portland. She was on the New York leg.

My reasoning was that if I liked girls who liked books, I needed to hold up my end of the deal. If not, I’d have to listen to book talk, endless book talk, which is never a bad thing with the right people.

I married a book girl. Since then I’ve built a few bookcases, then a few more, and they’re all full. How does anyone get rid of books? Is it better to sell them to a used bookstore for pennies on the dollar, or give them away to needy readers.

I’ll be here waiting for an answer.

Do Needy Readers Actually Read

To often I hear the sad lament, “I don’t have anything to read.”

I don’t say it because I’m not ashamed to re-read books. We watch movies to catch the delicate nuances, right? Same with a book. Will I re-read Tale Of Two Cities? No, because I haven’t read it once.

Currently I’m reading “My Wife Said You May Want To Marry Me.” It’s a comp-read to compare with the memoir I’m writing. You know about comp-reads? They are part of the non-fiction submission package agents require before deciding to represent, or not.

It’s a sad story of a happy marriage cut short by cancer. Sound familiar? Too familiar? An accomplished couple with exceptional children deal with loss in a mature and wrenching fashion. It’s a sweet story of overcoming life’s great challenges, but not my story.

My marriage includes love and devotion, loyalty and devotion, kindness and caring. It is also accusational: Who ate my cake; conspiratorial: If you left the door open it could have been the squirrel; and suspicious: You look a little squirrelly to me.

It all came together during my run through HPV cancer treatment. How did I get it? Who did I get if from? Why me for fuck’s sake. That was all so 2017, but it came back when I played the support role in someone else’s run-up to cancer treatment.

My book punches back on cancer, rag dolls it until it taps out. Or, more accurately, I got punched out and rag dolled. I’m no hero, but watching the expression on nurses’ and doctors’ change during my support role when they heard about it was a relief.

Was it hard? Yes, hard. Sore throat? Yes. And you’re clear? All clear.

Do needy readers want to hear about a guy who didn’t complain, didn’t explain, didn’t take pain pills or feeding tube or join a support group? Yes, they do.

After all, it was the best of times and the worst of times.