Question?

Does what we read define us?  Does it Inform us, and others, of our past, our present? Of the things we enjoy in our lives? 

I grew up with Nancy Drew.   I eventually graduated to Agatha Christie and I’ve read everything Ruth Rendell wrote.  I still indulge myself with much, much more than the occasional mystery.   

I always look to the New York Times best seller list to tell the me about the best and latest new mysteries.

Shockingly. this last week’s New York Times Best Seller List featured 5 apocalyptic (sci-fi) books, 2 very old love stories, 2 young-love books and a new book by the ever-pleasant Fredric Backman. But nary a single mystery for the likes of me. It was an unwelcome change.

But, wait! Maybe that perceived change isn’t so drastic after all. Maybe those apocolyptic stories are just mysteries in a different form and written for younger readers. Love stories have always been a staple of best sellers so there’s nothing new or different there. And Fredric Backman always makes us smile. 

Ergo, if the NYT’s best seller list is any indication of what we are reading, then maybe I’m not totally out of sync. Maybe I’m still “on the same page” that many of us are. But just in a slightly different context.

I do appreciate a tidy and satisfying ending to a good mystery. Be it Agatha Christie or a wild futuristic saga. So, if that’s what defines me, then that’s just fine. At least for the moment.