I found myself posting a one-line review on Goodreads today. Making a face, possibly embarrassed, I wrote “I had too much fun reading this despite my better judgement… must give it four stars.” What was the book? Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter.
Look, I pride myself on my reader skills, on my ability to assess a good book, a fine book, a book that will have impact even a hundred years from the writing. I have my vanity. But I also can read a book for fun, and when it has a fine flavor of grit between the teeth and the stench of rot, the vicious surge of adrenaline and a satisfying spending of all the author’s treasure of pent up anxiety and deceit, I will go along for the ride, and I know how to say thank you afterwards.
I may as well admit it. I also like reading westerns. What writers would I like to emulate? Let me be a combination of Charles Dickens, Max Brand and T. E. Lawrence. It will suffice.
