What We Really Need Is a Big Billboard That Says, "No Fat Lit"
There's been a bit of a pattern I've been noticing in the children's literature blogworld lately: everyone's complaining, or commending, or commenting in some way about the recent glut of mediocre fantasy novels that have been hitting us over our collective heads in 865-page servings lately.
- Roger Sutton made a comment or two on his blog, which garnered many, many repsonses.
- Fuse #8 rejoiced over the novel The Road to Paris because it was a nice middle-grade novel instead of a chubby fantasy.
- And on Oz and Ends, there's a big ol' full-blown essay about the whole thingamajing.
Now it seems that everybody's reading fantasy, and while it's kind of gratifying to see this genre recieve the attention that I always thought was its due, it's also frustrating to see so many lousy knockoffs of the Real McCoys. But like those tacky tourist stands, it supports the local economy -- in this case, fantasy authors -- who I hope will in turn separate the wheat from chaff and create better and newer attractions for us tourists in the future.