A friend sent me a link to an article about author comparisons and how every emerging writer is forcefully pigeonholed into one of ten categories. Funny article, well worth the quick read. Obviously, it made me ponder that whole phenomenon - the basic human urge to categorize or quantify anything new. In the case of books, I often find myself attracted to something with an original plot, slick cover, or witty title. But then I wonder: "Will I even like this? Don't I have other books I still need to read? Is it worth the $12?" Maybe not, but interested folks are betting I'm more likely to buy it if it's compared to Augusten Burroughs or Amy Sedaris. (Which has certainly sold me a number of times).
Anyway, I'd like to write my own comparisons some day ---
"Reminiscent of an older John Kennedy Toole..."
"The funniest bits of James Watson, E.O. Wilson, and Howard Zinn, all rolled into one side-splitting story."
"As life affirming...and spiritually relevant as anything by Twain or Vonnegut."
"The next James Frey."
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