(No, this Picasso painting is not me and if it was me, I would sue the genius who painted it. But never mind, this post is about something else entirely.)
Harlan Cobin, my go-to guy for page turning mystery and suspense has just announced his Sept. 6th release of…are you ready…a Young Adult novel. Yes, along with practically everyone in the publishing world now Cobin is writing in the YA genre. “Okay,” you say, “So What, Deet?” I’ll tell you so-what! I love my go-to authors. I buy their books faithfully and send their kids to Harvard. YA books just don’t do it for me. All that teenage angst and hormone eruptions, I just can’t hack it. Then you get those teens that act like they are thirty and have this entire mature outlook and manage to save the world…give me a break.
Yeah, yeah, I’ve read some good YA’s; well written, deserving of their cudos. I’m not saying the authors are bad. It’s just so disappointing that all that talent is geared toward that particular market. You know, the market sector that has all the money, teens. I spend money on books, maybe not as much as the teens but then they have more than I do.
I have forever been a person who embraces change and does not curse and struggle against the flow of the current, all that seems to be changing. I seem to be flailing around in that murky water bucking this trend to no avail. Damn, I think I’m old. On the other hand I think some of the best, funniest, most intelligent and swoon worthy books are for kids, not Young Adults. Like this one for example: