What’s good for you isn’t always good

I don’t necessarily like the things that are good for me. I mean, sometimes I do, but only when it’s something I actually like.

Think of it as an overlapping Venn diagram, where there’s a big circle of things that are good for me, overlapped in a small way by a different circle of things I like anyway. (So, along the lines of “I hate mathematics, except when it’s Venn diagrams, which I already like and don’t really think of as math.”)

I bring you this information after reading a collection of news stories last week telling me that there is no safe level for the consumption of bacon, preserved meats or alcohol. Then, I pondered life without bacon, preserved meats and alcohol, and moved on to other reading.

I also bring it to you after reading a column about French Canadian literature by the Globe and Mail’s Russell Smith. Though Smith was actually talking about how the literary scene in French Canada seemed able to have much more fun than the rest of the country, this line (tangentially about Canada Reads) stuck with me; “The Englishlanguage CBC and Canlit as a whole do tend to promote the idea of literature as a series of historical injustices about which we must feel ashamed, for the good of our souls and of our country — literature as penance, and the discussion of it as a kind of exculpatory prayer.”

I don’t know if I agree with him completely on that thesis, but it dovetails with something I think many in the relatively small writing community in this country forget — that there’s a difference between enjoying a good book and being told to eat your literary vegetables because they are good for you.

The decisions about what books are worth reading this year are now made by literary prize juries, made up, often, of people who are writers themselves.

And writers sometimes forget that, as readers, they are different from the vast majority of the reading public. Writers read for work. They struggle with others’ text, dissect it, look at what works, look at what doesn’t. But they keep going, because misses are as important to developing their craft as hits are. They may love an artful but flawed work, because the flaw is easy for them to discount, but that’s not necessarily the case for a reader who gets thrown out of a book by a simple plot misstep.

It’s a little like have chefs making all your restaurant recommendations for you — your tastes may overlap with someone who spends their entire life immersed in food and food culture, and that’s all for the good. But the chefs’ taste circle in the Venn diagram of dinner is probably vastly different than that of the average diner.

Within a small group of likeminded individuals (like the writing community) it’s easy to forget that there are distinct differences between a book you should read, a book you read as part of your profession, and a book you, well, just like reading.

Talk to members of book clubs — regular, constant omnivorous readers — about the books that have been singled out as the best in the country in any given year, and often you’ll find them mystified by some, and sometimes many, of the choices.

With less and less time in the busy world, I read the things I like, quickly and hungrily consume the books I enjoy, and often put down the ones that I am told I should read.

But that’s no different than my Venn diagram for dinner.

Inside the Venn overlap? Blueberries, I like. Kale? No matter how good for me it is, I won’t be having it again.

But that’s just me, the customer — who, in most industries, is always right.

“With less and less time in the busy world, I read the things I like, quickly and hungrily consume the books I enjoy, and often put down the ones that I am told I should read.”