…Random House reader-poll responders. Ayn Rand and L. Ron Hubbard did not write the best English-language novels of all time.

Kerrick Mainrender responds to a recent link item on this site:

“Out of curiosity I linked to that Morgan Hawke article, and while romances may indeed not be mindless, I found some misconceptions that are anything but helpful.The author seems to think that all women have the exact same development and needs–not true. Not all follow the same ‘character arc’ [or zigzag, or whatever]. Neither do men–this ‘mythic past’ stuff always seemed simplistic and overgeneralized–stereotyped, in fact.

Some children had secrets from Daddy right from the start [from Mommy too–where’s Mom in all those fairy tales anyway?] Sometimes a horse symbolizes something other than ‘masculine sexuality’–mobility, speed, endurance, for starters. Sometimes Beauty meets a female Beast. And so on.

Finally, first sex is NOT always painful. I don’t see why it should ever have to be, and if the young were educated right maybe it wouldn’t. That myth has got to go.

Ms Hawke can write about whatever fictive universe, with whatever rules, she wants to–we all have our favorites I am sure–but it isn’t a good idea to get ’em mixed up with the world you and I live in every day.

My sympathy for the loss of your father, and hopes that these difficult times can be surmounted, for you and all of us.”

Thanks. As I always say, women aren’t just different from men, they’re different from other women.

Mainrender also sends along a recommendation for the sexuality-info site Teenwire.

…Morgan Hawke offers “A Heroine’s Mythic Journey – A Character Arc of Female Sexuality.”

…but a reputable newspaper claims author Margaret Atwood’s invented a long-distance autograph machine.

…in the Seattle Times today. It’s all about the Hungarian novelist Imre Kertész, a former teenage Holocaust survivor whose works reflect a lifetime of unhealable soul-scars.

I’ve been on a political-news fast since this morning. I’m refusing to get bitter, depressed, or frustrated.

I’ve been cleansing and renewing my mind with Looney Tunes and Doctor Who DVDs, with Comcast digital cable’s opera music channel, with the coffee-table book Playboy: The Photographs, and with the last two stories in my main man D.F. Wallace’s anthology Oblivion. And I’ve been trying to jump-start my one-month novel, to little success thus far.

Tomorrow, I’m likely to spend the day locked up with my yet-to-be-written novel. I might read only the sports and living sections of the newspaper. I’ll go out later that evening, but will instruct my schmoozing companions to stick to discussing personal and/or upbeat topics.

I’m sure that within a few days, I’ll have something to say about the national tragedies. Until then, let me remind you of a certain famous fictional political organizer, “Boss” Jim W. Gettys.

As played by future Perry Mason costar Ray Collins in Orson Welles’s film classic Citizen Kane, this “W.” is an admitted “no gentleman,” a crook and grafter. He’s the target of the egotistical-yet-populistic publisher Charles Foster Kane’s short-lived political career. (In the first draft of the screenplay, it’s clearer that Kane isn’t running for office directly against Gettys, but against Democratic and Republican candidates who are both in Gettys’s pocket.)

It ends badly. Gettys finds and exploits a scandal in Kane’s personal life. On election night, Kane’s right-hand man instructs the press-room staff at Kane’s New York Inquirer to use a pre-set front page headline, “Charles Foster Kane Defeated—FRAUD AT POLLS!.”

Kane wastes the rest of his life as a grumpy old conservative hermit, with no sense of humor and horrid artistic tastes.

Dear God, please don’t let me end up like that.

…in the SeaTimes, on a funny little slacker novel called Bald.

…in the Seattle Times today. This one’s about Selling Seattle, a British academician’s view of the ’90s national-media hype about our once-fair city.

…in the Seattle Times today, this one on the McSweeney’s “humor” anthology.

…in the Seattle Times today. This one recommends Sen. Robert Byrd’s Losing America, an anti-Bush book with a difference. (Scroll to the bottom of the linked page.)

A U of Wisconsin study’s named Seattle #2 in “America’s Most Literate Cities.” Minneapolis, our ol’ sister city at the other end of the historic Great Northern RR line, is #1; Portland’s #9. And where would you imagine the third-busiest readers to be? Why, Pittsburgh, of course.

…of the many things we saw and did last weekend.

First, our friends in the band Lushy played the last night of Eastlake’s Bandoleone restaurant. (The building’s coming down; the management has found a new site in Fremont.)

When filming a Ford SUV commercial downtown at night, be sure your camera’s mounted on something rugged and sturdy—like a Mercedes SUV.

Seahawks Stadium hosted a big England-vs.-Scotland soccer exhibition. So, of course, the George and Dragon Pub in Fremont hosted a huge postgame party. The joint was filled with raucous singing, replica team jerseys, and dudes with accents boasting to me about their love of drinking until passing out.

And our ol’ friends Elaine Bonow and Harry Pierce debuted their funky li’l soul band Stupid Boy at the new intimate Blue Button cabaret space.

Yr. obt. cor’s’p’n’d’nt is once again providing freelance book reviews to The Seattle Times. The first of the new batch is out today, concerning Chuck Klosterman’s essay collection Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs: A Low Culture Manifesto.

…has a remarkably serious, positive assessment of the “graphic novel” phenom.

There’s another one of those research reports out that claims nobody’s reading in America anymore. And, like most prior reports of its type, its findings aren’t as dire as its headlines suggest.

Actual book sales, it turns out, have been flat or slightly increasing during the recent economic sadness. And that’s not counting audio books, e-books, and the good ol’ Internet (which is for the most part a reading exercise).

It’s the consumption of “literature,” that amorphously-defined area of non-genre fiction, that’s not kept up with population growth, or even fallen a bit, over the past two decades. (Although its audience decline in that era is not nearly as precipitous as that of network TV in the same period.)

I’m currently trying to get a PR job in a book-related company. What I’ll tell them is what I’ll tell you: Books aren’t going away any time soon. They are, as a character on Max Headroom once said, “a non-volatile storage medium.”

As for “literature,” it’s always been a specialty taste in this country. When book people wax nostalgic for the days when NYC publishing was run by tweed-suited gentlemen in funky little offices, they’re pining for a day when the book biz was so small and concentrated as to have been a boutique industry. The peak years of fiction book sales, roughly the ’50s through the ’70s, coincided with the peak years of mass-market paperbacks, when everything from Orwell to Salinger could be found on the drugstore spinner racks.

Among consumer-product industries in this country, the book industry is among the most resistant to change. Yet change it must, if it’s ever going to achieve its full potential as a business and as a force for influence on the culture at large.

More about all this later, maybe.