by Helen Chappell I read somewhere recently that people no longer read. And if that’s not an ironic statement, I don’t know what would be. Sure, we’re all about Hulu, Netflix and Amazon, streaming everything we can eyeball without a whole lot of that nasty focusing on the printed word, but there are some people out there who still read real books. Statistics show that the great majority of readers are women, and that a huge slice of those women are devout readers of chick lit. Chick lit is slang for women’s literature (read this: romance novels). In some circles, chick lit would barely pass for literature, like in some high falutin’ New York Times Book Review world. In a place where plot doesn’t count for much, and language and image are stretched as thin as they can get on the Fisher readability scale, chick lit is pretty low on the intellectual scale. First of all, it’s women’s fiction, which implies an intellectual level slightly above knuckle dragging. Never mind that men’s fiction can be equally mindless fun. And yes, there is a whole genre of guy lit. Anything by Tom Clancy, Clive Cussler or a handful of other writers is crafted to appeal to men.
There’s a lot of two-fisted adventure and action, a load of technology, and usually some graphic violence. It is escape fiction for guys, and that’s a whole other discussion. Ladies ~ if you need a book for a guy, check out the guy lit stuff. Books by Tom Clancy, for instance, used to fly off the shelves. Looking for a book for a manly man? You can’t go wrong with one of his books. Now, as you know, I will go to any lengths, and spare no effort for