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Read All About It: True Tales of Men and Fiction

Read All About It: True Tales of Men and Fiction

To the Editor:
Re 'Attention, Men: Books Are Sexy!,' by Maureen Dowd (column, Aug. 3):
Backpacking solo in 1995, reading voraciously, I met one of the loves of my life in Ubud, Bali. I was on a veranda overlooking rice paddies when Cherie, who was traveling with her mother, brazenly snatched the book I had my nose so buried in that I had not noticed her staring at me.
It was a Penguin paperback, 'How Much Land Does a Man Need? And Other Stories,' by Leo Tolstoy.
Cherie's eyes got wide, and I could tell she approved of my choice of authors, and my bookish interest in that collection of stories, to the exclusion of all around me.
She told me that's sexy right then and there. We talked long into the night. The trip to Bali became ever better after that. Even her mother liked me.
Lifetime memories. All because I was reading Tolstoy.
Gowan McAvityBedford, N.Y.
To the Editor:
Maureen Dowd writes compellingly about men and fiction. Jane Austen of course is wonderful for men and women, and I read her voraciously because she is so good with language and thought. An added appeal is hearing the thoughts of a woman on men that we can all recognize: that our social posturing is just that, and a conscious female observer can see through it.
I find myself far less interested in nonfiction. When I travel, I read a novel or a short story collection from the land I will visit rather than a travel guide — say, José Saramago before going to Portugal — because it tells me about how people there think, their worldview. It makes me feel at home and more understanding of the culture than any guidebook.
Bill EslerChicago
To the Editor:
Maureen Dowd laments that men are reading less and reports, 'Women make up 80 percent of fiction sales.'
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To the Editor: Re 'Attention, Men: Books Are Sexy!,' by Maureen Dowd (column, Aug. 3): Backpacking solo in 1995, reading voraciously, I met one of the loves of my life in Ubud, Bali. I was on a veranda overlooking rice paddies when Cherie, who was traveling with her mother, brazenly snatched the book I had my nose so buried in that I had not noticed her staring at me. It was a Penguin paperback, 'How Much Land Does a Man Need? And Other Stories,' by Leo Tolstoy. Cherie's eyes got wide, and I could tell she approved of my choice of authors, and my bookish interest in that collection of stories, to the exclusion of all around me. She told me that's sexy right then and there. We talked long into the night. The trip to Bali became ever better after that. Even her mother liked me. Lifetime memories. All because I was reading Tolstoy. Gowan McAvityBedford, N.Y. To the Editor: Maureen Dowd writes compellingly about men and fiction. Jane Austen of course is wonderful for men and women, and I read her voraciously because she is so good with language and thought. An added appeal is hearing the thoughts of a woman on men that we can all recognize: that our social posturing is just that, and a conscious female observer can see through it. I find myself far less interested in nonfiction. When I travel, I read a novel or a short story collection from the land I will visit rather than a travel guide — say, José Saramago before going to Portugal — because it tells me about how people there think, their worldview. It makes me feel at home and more understanding of the culture than any guidebook. Bill EslerChicago To the Editor: Maureen Dowd laments that men are reading less and reports, 'Women make up 80 percent of fiction sales.' Want all of The Times? Subscribe.

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