You Can’t Make Me!

I love getting book recommendations.  Getting the books themselves?  Not so much (to be more precise, getting unsolicited Kid-Refusing-to-Eatbooks, not so much).  The former is like looking at the menu of an eclectic restaurant with wonderful, personalized descriptions of the dinner choices.  The latter is like having someone else pick from the menu for you.  That someone might not know your taste, or, even if they did, not know whether you’re carbo-loading on crime fiction or craving the protein of the classics.  And, yes, yes, you might end up with a tasty morsel (or even a whole meal) you would never have considered, but I’m not convinced that makes up for feeling pressured to choke down 300 plus pages of sauceless pabulum because the loaner went to the trouble of, well, loaning you the book.  This is not to say, of course, that once having perused what was on offer, I’d object to having my choice made readily available to me…

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