It’s the nature of Eden to be recognized only when you are leaving it. The studious, private, tactile appropriation of the text in the self-imposed isolation of a physical book, shielded from the ten thousand-eyed monster of marketing, may become a rare experience, celebrated by a bereft band of book connoisseurs, dead tree readers.
Three Guys One Book has more readers in New York City than any other place. But one of the places that we have a concentration of readers is London. Three Guys is read in over 50 countries. That’s not such a big deal for a noted book blog. Most book blogs of some reputation have a global readership.
I hope you will excuse my nuance of immodesty but readers need to blow their own horns when they are applying for a job. Otherwise, I might wind up like one of those wallflower book club members. You know, the kind that bring the snack when it’s their turn but never make a comment.
I recently passed on reviewing a poetry collection. It’s difficult to write about verse. I’ve only tried it once or twice. But what really stopped me was that I hadn’t read the last four or five seminal works by the author. So I felt I lacked the background. I prefer to adopt a writer.
In the 19th century, the writing of historical novels was a big deal, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, A Tale of Two Cities… They were eagerly gobbled up by the rising middle class, who longed for literature that would expand their horizons.
The students have their own digs off-campus, an old Victorian house that the Bellwether family owns. So even within the Cambridge campus they are a hothouse group held apart. The 20-something group has a shared identity like a vaporous social envelope. They see the world through collective eyes. It’s as if Benjamin Wood has created this group of friends as a proto-character in itself.
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