I made an astonishing discovery the other day at our island library.
I was browsing the LARGE PRINT section. No, I haven't reached the stage of seniority (that's a couple of years off) or infirmity (open to debate) to need large print books. It's just that the aerobic machine I use at the local athletic club, where I strive to fend off infirmity, has a reading rack that is too far away for my reading glasses and too close for my distance glasses, and the thought of tri-focals is just too depressing to consider.
That's when I made my discovery, right there in the hushed confines of our library, and here it is: There is something terrifying going on in the LARGE PRINT section.
Allow me to explain...
First, while there is a smattering of nonfiction, almost all the books in this section of the library are fiction. Fine. I like fiction. But all these books fall into one or the other of only two literary genres: murder mysteries or steamy romance novels. What could explain this? Where are the classics? Where is contemporary literary fiction? Where are my own novels, not to put too fine a point on it? But I digress.
Maybe I've been reading too many detective stories myself, but here's what seems to me to be the deep and possibly sinister question: what does this say about the people who read LARGE PRINT books? Let's assume that the vast majority of LARGE PRINT book readers (I exempt those younger folks with sight limitations) have reached a certain venerable, wise, and decisive age where they are no longer willing to put up with the tiny little letters cheapskate book publishers use to save money on paper. I'm with them. Let's also assume that our esteemed library understands the reading preferences of those who choose LARGE PRINT books and stocks the shelves accordingly.
Does this mean older folks with failing eyesight have only two things in mind: Sex and Violence? I mean, think about this. Have they just been watching too much TV or is this where we will all soon end up? Or is this really where we all are anyway and older people have earned the right not to have to pretend otherwise?
But wait: there's more! If you look carefully at the spines of these books you discover something really chilling: the murder mysteries AND the romance novels are almost universally written by...Women!. Clearly, at least in the publishing world, they are adept at creating plots at either extreme. But what if this is who they truly are? I don't know about you, but this makes me look at my own partner with slightly different (and very focused) eyes. How are we men, blinded as we are by love and not that bright to begin with, to know whether the woman with whom we share our lives is a hopeless romantic or a potential murderess? What are the signs? Or--even more frightening--do they have the potential to be both? Do they alternate from one extreme (I hesitate to use the word "mood") to the other? Are there clues, such that one might be forewarned against putting one's large male foot into one's mouth on a given day, lest that be followed by a stiletto--and not of the heel variety?
I tell you what: a library's a very scary place.
I suspect that women who are very romantic and live in the real world have come close to going over the edge with one or two men occasionally, or at least
contemplated it. Most women have probably had a Lorena Bobbitt fantasy or two. So a crime thriller with romance is a natural combination.
As a former English major, I'm forbidden to read romance novels, unless they are "classics"--you have to sign something in order to get that diploma.