Favorite authors

When do you finish, if there’s no prospect of more?

All of our consultants are Readers, that is, people who read for pleasure.  The definition includes all genres, as long as there’s no particular application for the reading.  A nonfiction book on, say, the psychology of cats would count, if the reader is not a pet owner; conversely, a Dickens novel would not count if one is reading it for school (as a student or a teacher).  We don’t insist on paper books; electronic versions are fine, though we ourselves don’t use them.  It’s a truism that the proportion of Readers in the general population has fallen during the digital age, as other forms of entertainment take the place of books.  But there still seems to be a sizable group, if we judge by our friends and relations (an admittedly unscientific sample).

Every Reader discovers favorite authors.  Having enjoyed one book, another written by the same person will be snapped up without hesitation.  Along the way some authors will be discarded, some cemented in one’s affections.  Happiness is a newly-discovered contemporary author who is prolific.

A problem arises when one finds a Favorite Author who is no longer producing books, generally because of being deceased.  At some point a Reader will have read everything.  If you are not a Reader, you might not understand the desolation of having no more Hornblower novels (for example).  One can always reread, of course; and a good author is almost by definition one who stands up well to rereading.  But for many genres knowing how the story goes robs it of some of its attraction.  If you already know how Captain H. manages to defeat the bigger French ship by skill and stratagem, much of the tension is lost.  (You can, of course, study how C. S. Forester manages to set the stage, manage the historical allusions, and bring out the characters through dialog and action.)

Our consultant with the large library had set aside the final novels of three authors “for later,” to avoid the situation of having no more of their work to read.  But upon rummaging through his stacks for other purposes, he has reconsidered.  One is in his hands now, the others will be in time.  It’s not so much from a feeling of impending mortality, of having to do things now because there won’t be a later; it’s harder to describe.  There will be a bit of regret, as when the last glass of a certain vintage of wine is gone.  But it was always going to be finished someday.  Or, worse, never finished, never fully enjoyed.

And for a Reader, there is the overwhelming fact that it’s impossible in one lifetime to read all the excellent books.  That could drive one to despair; but on the other hand, it means one will never run out.  (The trick, of course, is to find them.)