Post by account_disabled on Jan 6, 2024 4:39:24 GMT
There are books that can be appreciated by an audience that belongs to all three categories. A mystery by Camilleri is read by men and women, by people of all ages and who read even just one book a year. We can make the same argument with some Stephen King novels. However, there is a fourth category, which does not take into account the number of years or books read in a year. But with literary tastes, with a passion for books that are different from the usual. They are strong readers, but their strength lies in the diversity of readings, in the variety of their library, in the search for what deviates from the usual in the publishing panorama.
The Steppenwolf by Hesse, He Has Returned by Vermes, De Bello Gallico by Caesar, 1Q84 by Murakami (how do you pronounce that title, by the way? I “thousand-four”), Perdido Street Station by Miéville are absolutely not books for Special Data everyone. I'm not saying they're difficult – they're not – but they're special . I picked five at random, but to me they seemed like different readings than usual, with themes that we don't often find in books, with personal approaches to both the topic covered and the literary genre. How do we write a book that can welcome an audience like this? Who do we write for? I don't know why I write. I said that I would like to write books for children and teenagers, but first I have to read a lot of them and try to write them. In the meantime I write for an ideal reader, yes, I only have one in mind and that's enough for me.
I write for myself . I am my ideal reader. I can't imagine another one, I can't do it and, maybe, I don't even want to. The reason is not arrogance, I'm not the type, the reason is that I want to address those who want to find in reading and in books what I also want to find. Another woman had been hers, stolen from her legitimate husband, who had been left waiting helplessly. Smiling, she dressed and went out.The man had worked all day to please his lord, who “had the power of life and death” in the village. He would have married that evening, with little celebration, but, according to the law, he could not have consummated that union first, because that right belonged to his master. The man was aware of it. It was for that reason that he had gone to the cemetery, to dig up the woman who had died of syphilis that morning. Several hours later everything was ready and the man stood aside with his head bowed, reluctantly accepting the law of his time.
The Steppenwolf by Hesse, He Has Returned by Vermes, De Bello Gallico by Caesar, 1Q84 by Murakami (how do you pronounce that title, by the way? I “thousand-four”), Perdido Street Station by Miéville are absolutely not books for Special Data everyone. I'm not saying they're difficult – they're not – but they're special . I picked five at random, but to me they seemed like different readings than usual, with themes that we don't often find in books, with personal approaches to both the topic covered and the literary genre. How do we write a book that can welcome an audience like this? Who do we write for? I don't know why I write. I said that I would like to write books for children and teenagers, but first I have to read a lot of them and try to write them. In the meantime I write for an ideal reader, yes, I only have one in mind and that's enough for me.
I write for myself . I am my ideal reader. I can't imagine another one, I can't do it and, maybe, I don't even want to. The reason is not arrogance, I'm not the type, the reason is that I want to address those who want to find in reading and in books what I also want to find. Another woman had been hers, stolen from her legitimate husband, who had been left waiting helplessly. Smiling, she dressed and went out.The man had worked all day to please his lord, who “had the power of life and death” in the village. He would have married that evening, with little celebration, but, according to the law, he could not have consummated that union first, because that right belonged to his master. The man was aware of it. It was for that reason that he had gone to the cemetery, to dig up the woman who had died of syphilis that morning. Several hours later everything was ready and the man stood aside with his head bowed, reluctantly accepting the law of his time.