For more decades than I care to count or even to estimate, I have carried around a fat little notebook listing authors and titles I plan to read as a handy reference for off-chance visits to secondhand bookstores and unfamiliar library branches. I know I am not alone in this; most avid readers, like avid birders, keep a lifetime list and are always on the prowl for a specimen they have yet to find. During our Friends of the Library push to tag and digitally encode the collection of our very familiar local branch, though, I began to keep a very different kind of list---authors and titles I have no intention of reading, ever.
Since I believe that life is too short to finish a book that hasn't engaged me by the end of Chapter 3, it's logical to conclude that it will be shorter still unless I cut to the chase in pursuit of my A-List reads. Whilst compiling this list of Don't-Bothers and Please-Spare-Mes, I fantasized about borrowing a leaf from Stacy London and opining What Not to Read, but as both a former library staffer and continuing devotee of the American Library Association's Freedom to Read campaign, I can't be that doctrinaire. All I can do is set forth my personal criteria and let the Nora Roberts paper-backs fall where they may---into the recycle bin, preferably.
So, do not expect to find on my bookshelves nor on my bedside table the following:
Donna Andrews, Susan Wittig Albert, Hannah Alexander, David Baldacci, William Bernhardt, Steve Berry, M.C. Beaton, Maeve Binchy, Rhys Bowen, Barbara Taylor Bradford, Dale Brown, Dan Brown AND Sandra Brown; Meg Cabot, Stella Cameron, Robyn Carr, Diane Chamberlain, Sandra Chastain, Jennifer Chiaverini, Lee Child, Mary Jane Clark, Jane K. Cleland, Blaize Clements, Robin Cook, Stephanie Coonts, Patricia Cornwell, Catherine Coulter, Michael Crichton, Jennifer Cruise.
Also,
Janet Dailey, Barbara Delinsky, Nelson DeMille, Jude Devereaux, Janet Evanovich---I wearied of Stephanie Plum long before "Jersey Shores" made her look like Garden State intelligentsia---
Richard Paul Evans, Linda Fairstein, Diana Gabaldon, Lisa Gardner, Dorothy Garlock, Julie Garwood, Judith Gould, Heather Graham, Andrew Greeley, Tim Green, Linda Greenlaw, W.E.B. Griffin, James W. Hall, Jack Higgins, Tami Hoag, Kay Hooper, Linda Howard, Greg Iles, Iris Johansen, Karen Kingsbury, John Lescroart, Elizabeth Lowell.
And,
Sharyn McCrumb,
Judith McNaught, Margaret Maron, Judith Michael, Fern Michaels (!), Linda Lael Miller, Tamar Myers, Tami O'Dell, Robert B. Parker, Ridley Pearson, Carly Phillips, Susan Elizabeth Phillips, Jodi Picoult, David Poyer, Douglas Preston (with or without
Lincoln Childs),
Amanda Quick (who is
Jayne Anne Krentz),
Kathy Reichs, Anne Rice, Luanne Rice (!!), Emilie Richards, Karen Robards, John Sandford, Lisa Scottoline, Anne Rivers Siddons, Nicholas Sparks, LaVyrle Spencer, Peter Straub, Robert K. Tanenbaum, Penny Vincenzi, Robert James Waller, Jennifer Weiner, Stephen White, Phyllis Whitney, Susan Wiggs, Stuart Woods (!!!).
Ah, but those are by no means all. I will read no book:
By any author whose works constitute their own mini section of Adult Fiction: James Patterson, Harlan Coben, Clive Cussler, Danielle Steel, Dean Koontz, John Grisham, Jayne Anne Krentz, Debbie Macomber, Nora Roberts AND her mystery-writing avatar, J.D. Robb, Tess Gerritsen. Truly, every time Patterson does one of those commercials saying that unless I buy his new book, he may have to kill off Alex Cross, my eager response is, "You promise?"
By any author (see above) so prolific that there are three or more of their titles on the 7-day shelves at any given time.
By anyone described above the title as "New York Times Best-Selling Author." The NYT best-seller lists measure is sales; they have nothing to do with quality. If they did, would "The Shack" have stayed at No. 1 all those weeks? Or "Slow Waltz in Cedar Bend?" Or anything by Sarah Palin? Titles recommended by People, Entertainment Weekly, USA Today, Oprah, or the Today Show don't cut much ice with me either.
By any author earning kudos in the jacket blurbs from any of the authors named above.
Described as "chick-lit." Candace Bushnell, Sophie Kinsella, and Meg Cabot have a lot to answer for.
By the Family Businesses: Faye Kellermann and Jonathan Kellermann and all their heirs and assigns; James Lee Burke and Alafair Burke; Joan and Jackie Collins; Mary Higgins and Carol Higgins Clark. I am willing to cut Stephen and Tabitha King and their son Joe Hill a little slack; only Stephen is all that prolific, and I do like his short fiction. I'm also inclined to grant a waiver to Marcia Muller and Bill Pronzini, a married couple who write separate but equally good private-eye series.
By celebrity authors whose apparent sole contribution to their co-authored works is their celebrity: Richard Belzer, Al Roker, Erin Brockovich.
Described as "Christian fiction," whether simpering romances or the apocalyptic gore of Tim LaHaye. Oh, and can we please leave the Amish alone?
Bearing a punnishly cute title, such as "Hell Hath No Curry" or "As the World Churns" (Tamar Myers) or whose amateur sleuth protagonists are cunningly named, like Diane Mott Davidson's Goldy Behr, owner of Goldilocks Catering. Indeed, inclusion of recipes, quilt designs, and knitting patterns has turned the once-respectable whodunnit into a division of Woman's Day.
In which the "detective" is an animal, particularly a cat. I love cats, I love detective novels, I am even fond of detectives who are fond of cats, such as John Harvey's Charlie Resnick, who shares digs with Dizzy, Miles, and Satch; and Mark Billingham's Tom Thorne, whose cat is Elvis. I am, however, decidedly unfond of the distressingly anthropomorphic tales of Lillian Jackson Braun, Rita Mae Brown, Shirley Rousseau Murphy, and Carole Nelson Douglas. Face it, cats are too smart to get mixed up in a murder investigation.
Produced with or without assistance by film, music, or sports stars. If I can resist reading tabloid headlines about "Brangelina" in the checkout line, whyever would I read a 300-page book? No matter how glowing their star power, I have zero interest in their past lives, loves, diets, health problems and/or addictions, household hints, decorating advice, or parenting tips. This goes double for the air-brushed memoirs of political candidates.
Featuring vampires, zombies, werewolves (though I grant Sirius Black a waiver), ghosts, ghouls, and/or Godzilla. I am even less enthralled with pastiches linking Jane Austen to vampires and sea monsters.
Compared to "The DaVinci Code."
Featuring cartoon characters. I don't care that publishers call them graphic novels and put them between hard covers---they're comic books.
Penned by and prominently featuring on the cover such snake-oil sales staff as Sylvia Browne, Dr. Phil, Deepak Chopra, Glenn Beck, Bill O'Reilly, various televangelists, each and every one of the Food Network chefs, Suze Orman, and Martha Stewart. I can live happily without Mitch Albom, too, even though his photo doesn't appear on the fronts of "Tuesdays With Morrie" and "Five People You Meet in Heaven."
Now that I've got all that off my chest, my shelves, and my to-read list, guess I'll go read something I really want to...where's my copy of "Treasure Island?"
