May I Recommend This Post?

By Andrew Tibbetts

Try to get somebody to read a novel you love. Ugh. Try to smile politely while somebody tries to get you to read a novel they love. Ugh. Why do we do this to each other? Recommend things.

I must have recommended to over one hundred people that they read Colm Tóibín’s "The Blackwater Lightship", and yet, as far as I know, not a single person has ever done so upon my recommendation. Does that stop me? No. Ugh. I soldier on.

It must be like belonging to one of those door-to-door religions. It's not so much that you'll convert anyone. It's about strengthening your own resolve. Paying homage to what you believe in. In fact, the more they slam, the tougher you get. The rare height of your exquisite taste is confirmed.

But not really. I don't want to be alone with these obsessions. I want company. I've bought several copies of Anne Carson's "Autobiography of Red" to give to people. I'd like to prop open their eyelids and clockwork orange them into reading it. They'll thank me when it's over. But on the other hand, the more people tell me I HAVE to read "The Kite Runner" the less I want to. I have a copy sitting several feet from me as I write this. A dusty copy.

A novel is such a huge investment. In comparison converting religions is small change- just show up at a new church for an hour and you're in! But novels take chunks of your life. And I HATE not to finish a novel. The few novels I have not finished, I repeatedly try to conquer. I don't want to saddle myself with another "Gravity's Rainbow", okay? I've read about those damn bananas a dozen times.

That doesn't stop me from asking my sixteen year old son at least once a month for the past several years, "How's 'Cloud Atlas' coming?" He ums; he ahs. Apparently he lost it. So I searched his room for it. Twice. And then he was all, like, I don't know, man, it's like, slow, at the beginning, and, like, all Victorian or something? Call the Children's Aid before I throttle him! Remember me? I'm the guy who introduced you to "Number Nine Dream" by the same author which is your favourite book. I'm the guy who introduced you to ska, which is your favourite music. I'm the guy who introduced you to John Woo, James Ellroy, The Hives, Butter Chicken, Green Apple Smoothies. Hello? I'm the guy who gave you half your DNA! Read the damn book. Humour me.

My father tried to get me to read Winston Churchill’s war journals.

Do you know what's depressing? Looking up a movie you love on Rotten Tomatoes and reading reviews by critics that didn't like it. Ugh. It makes me despair of humanity. My favourite critic these days is Anthony Lane, because the man can turn a phrase and not because I need to borrow his opinions. But it still bothers me that he doesn't care for my recent favs- 'Oldboy' and 'Me and You and Everyone We Know'- in fact he kind of implies that I'm creepy for liking them.

I’ll rant on. I don't set people on “My Life as a Dog” anymore. I'm tired of “you didn't tell me it was subtitled” and “well, it was slow” and “I thought you said it was funny- the kid's mom dies, buddy. I had to turn it off”, etc.... it just breaks my heart. When you recommend something you are offering a piece of yourself. When it's rejected, it's personal. Don't pretend otherwise. The part of you that feels that way is not present in the other person. Just like the part of my favourite teacher who loves "Seventh Heaven" is alien to me and if I think about it too much I lose all respect for him. Ugh.

Let’s face it. Other people are freaks. Freaks who like "Titanic" and not "Yes Nurse No Nurse," the Dutch musical. Freaks who prefer Burger King to Harvey’s. Freaks who vote conservative. You are never so much alone as when you are making a recommendation. So, best to keep them to yourself. Mum’s the word. Tick a lock. (But seriously, listen to that Sufjan Stevens song again, okay? It's not disturbing. It's beautiful. Why can't you hear that? Damn, I feel like a freak.)