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The world of publishing is in crisis: publishers sell hot titles at massive discounts to supermarkets, driving independent publishers out of business. I remember when the last Harry Potter title came out, I think it was Harry Potter and the Crock of Shit. Remember that? Or Harry Potter and the Mitten of Wool? Or Harry Potter and the Stick of Wood. Or Harry Potter and the Forest of Embarrassment. Or Harry Potter and the meh meh meh. Anyway, I was in Tesco’s, and they were literally delivering the new Harry Potter books on forklift trucks, on pallets, into the supermarket. "Get your books! Pile up the books! Get a multi-pack of books! Why not take an extra book home, put it in the freezer?" You know, those Harry Potter books, you know they’re for children, don’t you? They’re aimed at children. People do that to me, "Have you read the new Harry Potter book, Stew, it’s good, have you read it?" No, I haven’t read it, because I’m a forty-year-old man. "You should read it, Stew, it’s about a wizard in a school." I’m not reading it! I’m a grown— I’m an adult! "Have you read Harry Potter, Stew, and the— and the Tree of Nothing?" No, I haven’t. I haven’t read it, but I have read the complete works of the romantic poet and visionary William Blake. So fuck off. (en) |
