I admit that for many years I subscribed to the policy that a book, any book, was always better than no book. In recent years though, I have come to believe that it is the dirty little secret of the bookselling world that some books just suck.
I once slept with a man because he gave me a copy of Murakami's The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. Before you judge me, read the book. It's lyrical and seductive and changes the way you think about reality, about life.
Over the years, my father demonstrated to me that books offer us solace and escape when nothing else can. He taught me a deep appreciation and gratitude for a good story.