There are faux book clubs. The members tend to read Oprah books, non-
fiction, and actually work the workbooks for discussion. The call
themselves book clubs and books are involved — but they aren’t the
real thing.
You also have sort-of book clubs that are more Branson than Vegas.
Members come and go. Anyone is welcome. Often there is a leader that
coordinates everything into a nice pleasant experience.
But the other book clubs, the ones that experience camaraderie that
goes beyond secret handshakes, beyond age, race, religion, or
economics…those book clubs are real book clubs. The activities they
engage in are never discussed with casual acquaintances, against the
rules in most work places, and isn’t even shared with spouses.
What do they do? The members experience a deeply private intimacy
that normally only a faceless author is privy to. In the context of
reading books together members share the fantasies that get them
through the lousy bosses, troubled teen-agers, no money, and even
death. What turns them on, what turns them off. What is beautiful,
uplifting or depressing. “This book has reached inside of me and I’m
going to tell you how.”
Intimacy and safety in a world where we don’t even know our
neighbor’s name — My Book Club.
THE READER
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Dear Reader,
Thanks for the post. I enjoyed it!