Chick Lit Meets the Stepford Wives

This is way too funny. Not, perhaps, as funny as people who pick their books based on the color of the covers (“No, I’d NEVER read a pink book!”), but funny nonetheless.

I’ve read neither This Is… nor This Is Not…, but if you saw my TBR stack, you wouldn’t be out buying new books, either. (By the way, Annie, if you’re looking for some good books to read…)

I do not believe that the publishing of any given kind of book prevents the publication of any other kind of book. Rising tide floats all boats. I don’t believe that the publication of any kind of fiction (except perhaps, the kind posing as non-fiction) is “damaging to America.” I think the very idea is laughable, and the people promoting it should be embarrassed to be claiming intellectual high ground.

I haven’t posted on it before, because I didn’t feel as if such nonsense deserved the dignity of a reasoned response. But hey, it’s Banned Books Week, in which we should be speaking out about how no one should have the right to tell anyone else what to read. And an argument that paints women as weak and shallow individuals who need to be kept away from “fluff,” and condemned for reading it should be shown for the offensive and ridiculous statement that it is.

Okay, that’s it. Party on.