Anyone who (even remotely) enjoys the literary jaunt of a novel understands that there is a mass of terrible fiction on the desks of our publishing editors and on the shelves of our bookstores. It seems that there barely exists a rubric of quality in which the fiction of my generation is expected to be evaluated and/or judged upon. The words of Stephanie Meyer "
Twilight" and Dan Brown "
The Da Vinci Code" have become the expectation of critique and while the enjoyment factor is faultless and undeniable, they have consequently robbed the world of expositional value. It's as Voltaire once said, "The multitude of books is making us ignorant." And so, this is my erudite excursion into the outside world of quality, talent, and the fading existence of worded invention...
