How can I not enjoy a book that states, in its second paragraph, the obvious truth that reading is a compulsion? (Hello, fellow addicts!) Because Why I Read: The Serious Pleasure of Books should perhaps be renamed “The Pleasure of Serious Books, as determined by the author, who may well enjoy a mystery book or two but let’s face it, will only consider Literature with a capital “L” as worth our time an investment”. Perhaps that title was a little long? But alas it seems to be a love fest for Literature majors, who not only read and enjoyed The Brothers Karamazov, but also remember the plot and each character’s name, and enjoy dissecting the plot thirty years afterwards. I plead forgetfulness, and the difficulty of Russian names, and general ennui with the whole concept of dissection — and I feel just a little left out and put out when the dissection occurs without the quick summary that may help the non-cognoscenti follow along.
Perhaps the whole point is to exclude those who have not read the recommended 100 books that appear in appendix, and those who intend to read outside the list.