by Benjamin Kritikos
A year ago, I made a resolution to read only women authors. The thinking behind this act of positive discrimination was that I’d read far fewer books by women than by men, and I felt like I was missing out. While I knew there were shitloads of excellent books written by women, I somehow managed to pass 30 years without reading very many. The year 2010 was my chance to redress the imbalance.
Boy, am I glad I did. I’ve spent a good deal of this past year catching up with the millions of people who read and loved the Harry Potter books — for which I was mercilessly teased by haters. That always happens to great works that happen to garner popularity, though; even Ovid‘s Metamorphoses had its haters.
Of course, most people who actively voice a dislike for Harry Potter have never read the books, but only seen the films (or sometimes not even that). I thought the films were rubbish — but hating on these books means you should pre-book a room in an old people’s home … No, I take that back. Old people are not, generally, as embittered and old-at-heart as you; and we wouldn’t want to upset them. Go read Ivanhoe or Dan Brown or whatever it is you like, and leave the rest of us alone.
