Oh the irony

Let it be noted that I am NOT a fan of Oprah. Don't watch her, don't pay any particular attention to what she says. But yesterday at the gym, I forgot to take a magazine, so I went to the cardio room's magazine rack. It looks like a doctor's office -- a bunch of magazines, most of them old and beat up. The only one I hadn't read was Oprah's (well, it was between that and a magazine about hunting and guns, and it was a tough choice). O won because I was intrigued by her summer reading recommendations. I'm always curious to see what books get highlighted (rarely anything I would read).

As I said I'm not a fan of the Goddess of Lake Michigan, I don't pay much attention to her book club. If I pick up something with the sticker on it, it is because I like the author or had wanted to read the book on its own merits. The only time I read a book because someone tells me to is for my own book group or for English classes. But it's no secret her picks become super best sellers. I can't tell you, though, how many times someone has read one of the picks but said, "I really couldn't stand the book, but I must be wrong."

So I get to this article on recommended summer books, and in the very first paragraph the writer tells the reader that everybody has different tastes in books and that's okay! I laughed out loud right there on the treadmill. For years, Oprah has touted her favorite books like the Pied Piper and the rats, I mean the audience, lined up to buy it. Because if Oprah says it is good, it is good. (Now I think it would have been more interesting if a random audience member was allowed to pick the next book.)

The author of the article is right, of course. We should all embrace our reading differences. No problem in trying something new but life is too short to waste it on something you don't think you'll like.

Although I may take up one of the suggestions. Dombey and Son by Charles Dickens. It's been on my shelf forever and it's about time I read some Dickens again. Or maybe I'll read Bleak House. Or Nicholas Nickleby. Or reread Copperfield for the millionth time. Because that's what I like.