Novel Snob

When I talk about my favourite novels, I sometimes get called a literary snob. That’s all well and good, but a classic is a classic for a reason. I enjoy some of the old classics, not all, but most. Charles Dickens, Agatha Christie, Oscar Wilde, even some Jane Austen. Does this mean I am a literary snob? If that’s all I read, then possibly, yes. But it’s not all I read.

I have enjoyed novels from a wide range of authors. James Herbert’s Thrillers are always a favourite of mine. Stephanie Meyer provided some amusing distractions as did Charlaine Harris. Everybody has read some J.K Rowling in their life and they became great hits for a reason. I have read some more unknown authors such as Perry Moore and Bill Konigsberg with great surprise at how good their novels are. These are not known as classics, but are still enjoyable; I have spent many hours with books that are not well known and loved them from start to finish. But because my favourites lean more towards the classics than the more modern novels, does that make me a snob? Possibly still, yes.

But I don’t mind being a literary snob, if it means I can appreciate the wit of Oscar Wilde, the grittiness of Charles Dickens’ perfectly proportioned prose, the pretty romance of Jane Austen and the cleverly deceptive Agatha Christie. I am proud to call myself a literary snob, but why all of a sudden do we need to justify our favourite reading materials? We live our lives the way we want. We are told everyday to be an individual, yet are chastised for doing so. For me, reading fiction is an escape from the real world, so why do we need to excuse the personal, private little world in our imagination? Tell me what you think.

Read, follow, comment and enjoy. M x