Short post week day 5!

People are way more complicated than this, and all these books come from a million different places, but today I realized that sometimes, involuntarily, I react to all these books I come across at work as if they belong, strictly, to one of two different poles. In between these poles, dead center, is the sharp, pointy precipice of an impossible mountain, a fulcrum, a peak so severe it allows for no perch. All must fall to one side or the other of the mighty divide. And there we have two kinds of books. The one kind is from people trying to make sheer, blazing magic, and sometimes, almost impossibly, beginning to succeed. The other kind of book is the work of people shilling soullessly for a dime. I am slightly too wise to believe this split is even remotely true. It's childish, simplistic and madly reductionist. But whole days, unbidden, my heart goes that way, weighing it out in every book I read, and I swing from awe to despair to awe again. A ridiculous dichotomy sure, and yet, maybe, something to listen for, as you read... anything.