I've never been a fan of year-end lists. I've made this known. It has come time to say it out loud: I'm uber-tired of it this year.
Why? Short of The Millions and EWN and a tiny handful of blogs and pubs, who have the sense to run "lists" of books that authors (the keyword in all of this as I make my case: authors) liked this year (and which therefore results in interesting lists, lists that consist of something other than the top three or four or seven books that are now so ubiquitous I feel I should refuse to read them on spec or at least out of some unresolved issue I have with authority and being told what to do and what to read), it seems that everyone is cheating off of everyone else. There's only one best-books-of-the-year crib sheet and everyone's got it. Everyone's looking over the same damn shoulder when the teacher's got her back turned.
With the many weekend articles decrying book reviewing (again!) and the lack of reader interest in those book reviews (again!) and how dismal a year it was for books (again!), I feel like screaming: is it any wonder when you all pick the same books and tell the would-be readers you seem so intent on keeping to read them, read them, read them, or else!?!?!!?
Where are the works in translation? Where are the books by small presses? Where are the books by first time authors? Where are the short story collections? You cannot whine about the state of affairs if you're all asleep at the helm. You simply cannot.
