Island Life by David Slack


Books are our friends

You are what you read. Just ask the Guardian. A glance at the cover of the book a person is reading is all we need. Well, maybe you need more, but I don't. Look across the aisle of the bus or the plane or the café, and check out the title. Bang. Right there you've got name, rank, serial number and favourite colour.

But can it get you laid?

Lukethedrfiter says he went out with a girl for almost a "month pretty much solely because her favourite author was Junichiro Tanizaki, and her favourite book Some Prefer Nettles." But the ending was sad.

She was a bit of a bitch, and the similar literary tastes couldn't sustain things.

Molly22 says she was once asked for her number while reading The Tropic of Cancer on a NYC commuter train. But the guy never rang. Perhaps he found his Anais Nin at the next stop.

The discussion doesn't take long to come to the author most loathed by all others.

Anyone reading Dan Brown or 90% of things on the bestseller lists would be a complete turn-off for me.

And there is a code to reading The Code.

Don't judge people for reading Dan Brown - judge people for not hiding it. Or judge people for liking it. Or judge people for judging it. I read the Da Vinci Code to see what all the fuss was about and am now able to formulate my own opinion on it - but I was far too embarrassed to read it in front of any strangers.

On it goes. I am in a down phase. When I get on the ferry, I've had enough of words for the day. I put on my iPod. I don't think I am the target for this Public Service Announcement, however.

Read a book, read a book, read a motherfuckin' book.

Word! It makes Alan Duff sound mild-mannered.

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