Some friends recently were talking about book clubs and one was lamenting the fact that he had not finished the book–Caleb Carr’s “The Angel of Darkness” (Random House)that was up for discussion at his club’s monthly meeting in three days.
With lives so consumed by hot new restaurants to be visited, who could be expected to find the time to read a book that might run longer than 200 pages?
Here, then, is a modest proposal: magazine clubs.
Meet every month to discuss the latest John Updike story in the New Yorker or the latest Dominick Dunne feature in Vanity Fair.
Think of the time saved.
Think of the guilt avoided.
Think of the money.
It has always been a suspicion that many of these clubs were formed not out of a need for intellectual exercise, but rather to provide an excuse to socialize, network and munch on food.
No book club member I know was willing to discuss this conspiracy theory, but some admitted to never finishing the books assigned to be read.
Few blanched at the idea of magazine clubs, yet none was courageous enough to say he or she would suggest the idea at the next book club meeting.
