Book Snobbery

I am a total book snob. On so many levels. I read my share of trash, sure (the Shopaholic series brought me great pleasure, but I also take great pleasure in the irony of this fact) but my snobbery stems more from not wanting to read what "they" (aka: the masses) are reading. It's an intellectual (and artistic) rejection of things popular, and it's been something I've rejoiced in ever since I first started writing seriously fifteen years ago.

Case in point: The Da Vinci Code. I will not read it. Or perhaps I should say: I have not read it. I don't even need to read it to know it's a poorly-written, overrated book; my sources who have read it (aka: my equally-snobbish, though perhaps more curious colleagues) confirm this. But when I was out traipsing around Spain, a friend left me an article from SFWeekly. In it, Karen Zuercher discusses the snobbery of certain readers and what made her "lower" herself to finally read the book and what made her realize that she actually enjoyed it:

...I admit I felt kind of dirty for having read The Da Vinci Code, even though I'd joined about a zillion other people in doing so. With all the fabulously written books in the world, why waste time and lower your literary values with that one? It's entertaining, yes. It's easy on the brain, definitely...Mostly, though, it was just nice to read something lots of other people were reading.

It makes me think of one of the reasons people do read, to feel a member of a community, to feel, as Zuercher says, "connected" to their community through story. Ordinarily (and perhaps ironically) I shun that community (at least on literary terms) because I tend to perceive myself -- as a writer, as an instructor of Literature, as a lover of words -- as above that community. When perhaps I should just admit that I am a part of it.

So, should I? Dare I?