YOUR CHOICE

by Steven Steinbock

She-Who-Must-be-Obeyed (who paradoxically refers to herself on this forum as Steve’s Wench) stared at the stack of old review books on the kitchen counter. It had gotten so high that in a process of literary mitosis had become two stacks before her very eyes.

“Hon,” she said. (That’s “hon” which is short for “honey” – and not “The Hon” that one might find in a Wodehouse novel which is short for “The Honorable.” But as I was saying. . .)

“Hon,” she said. “Can I bring any of these in to my receptionist?”

“Sure,” I said. “What kind of book does she like?”

“Everything. She says she’ll read anything.”

Anything and everything is a tall order, even taller than the book piles on my counter. But I picked through, and found a dozen that looked like they might appeal to an effervescent hospital administrator.

She-Who-Must-be-Obeyed returned home after the next day of work and said, “Now I need some for my nurse.”

“Sure,” I said. “What kind of book does she like?”

“Thrillers, I think. Or maybe Suspense. I think she likes supernatural suspense. Or maybe its supernatural thrillers. But not medical thrillers. I wonder if medical suspense would be okay. She might like cosies.”

I complied.

People are often asking me to recommend authors. When I ask who they like, the most common answer is, “I don’t know.” Even when I ask if they prefer cozy or hard-boiled stories, they look at me blankly as though I’m speaking Phoenician. Then they brighten up and say, “I watch CSI.”

All this got me thinking: Is there some kind of test that can be administered to potential readers that would reveal exactly what kind of book they would most enjoy? Just a set of simple questions, like a Briggs-Myers Personality Survey except for book genres. Of course not. The idea was ludicrous.

But I kept thinking about it just the same.

Then one night I was watching “Fairly Legal,” a cute TV series about a cute legal mediator (Kate) who still occasionally sleeps with her cute almost-ex-husband. There’s not much to the show, but it’s . . . cute. Anyhow, in this particular episode, Kate’s almost-ex asks Kate’s assistant Leonardo for advice about what to get her for their anniversary. “When we were together, we agreed there would be no anniversary presents,” he tells Leonardo. Or something to that effect. “But now that we’re getting a divorce, I’m no longer bound by that rule. So what would be the perfect gift?”

Leonardo provides the almost-ex-husband with a series of four questions to ask Kate. The first two questions are:

Godzilla, Mothra, King Kong, if you had to pick one, first instinct, no wrong answer.

Heat lamp, electric blanket, or thermal underwear.

We never hear the other two questions, but the answers Kate gives are “Corderoy” and “Plutonium.”

From Kate’s answers, Leonardo is able to deduce the perfect gift for her. (He tells the almost-ex-husband that the perfect gift is an iPad, but the actual perfect gift is a boat toaster—a non-electric bread-toaster to use on her yacht. Leonardo keeps the iPad for himself as payment for services.)

So I started to wonder, maybe there’s something to be learned here about perfect subgenres. What questions would I ask? Here’s my first attempt:

Bourbon, Guinness, or Port?

Fedora, beret, or wedding veil?

Used book store, golf course, or strip-club?

Letter opener, curare, or Glock?

What do you think? Could this work? Is there a place in the world for a “Frumious Bandersnatch Subgenre Selection Test”? What other questions (or trinary choices) would you include?