I always find it rather fascinating that so many anti-chick lit ranty things (including the ones we dish up here for you daily) contain somewhere therein a specific, physical description of a bookstore table laden with fluorescent, candyfloss seemingly interchangeable covers. I like that there is an clear visual image to accompany one's outrage. It's not subtle, you know.

It's right there in front of your face when you go into most bookstores today -- a display that seems to say, "This is what women write. This is what women want to read. This is what sells." Or at least that's the song and dance that the publishing industry would love for you to adopt with fervor equal to its own.

Here's another take on that very subject:
What would Ayn Rand say about Dear Prince Charming? (Which I am sure is a wonderful read). Would Virginia Woolf thumb through What a Girl Wants while sipping her afternoon tea? What could the illustrious writers of the past and the budding present day authors say about a genre of literature that celebrates a women’s independence by revoking it on the very next page.
Did you hear that? Oh, right. SNAP.

Do take a few minutes to read the rest of the hilariously dead-on pop culture commentary that can be found in the whole essay, entitled "Heartbreaking Genius of a Staggering Madwoman: Chick Lit and the Decline of Great Women's Literature." It's so delightful to encounter yet another reader who finds it quite easy to refuse and resist.


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