In Italy, alas, there are few readers. I tried to classify them into categories, but don’t take me too seriously…

 

Readers in our country are scarce.

It’s not just me saying this; there are some fairly eloquent statistics on the subject. If confirmation were needed, just think about the places where there used to be a bookstore (and now there’s an auto parts shop or a chain lingerie store) and the not-always-smiling faces of the rare booksellers scattered here and there.

At the shopping mall, for example—the one where you have to tailgate the guy with the cart, hoping he’ll surrender his precious parking spot after loading up his car—there’s always a big bookstore from a big publishing house. That’s the only place you can escape the Sunday crowd, the barbarian horde of Christmas shoppers, or the zombie apocalypse. Within the reassuring walls of the bookstore, in an almost bucolic atmosphere, you can find your oasis of peace while the world outside boils like a volcano’s crater.

Even though readers are few, they do exist.

We have photos, videos, and testimonies from real people whose faces have been pixelated, their voices distorted. We even have images of some individuals, caught in the act, clutching bags full of books, cautious and elusive.

As someone who writes and—like any writer—needs to sell as much as possible, I’ve developed a sense of the most recurring types of readers and the quirks that make them so unique.

I’ll try to list them, using a light-hearted tone and, hopefully, not offending anyone (though if I do, let me know, and I’ll apologize):

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THE ONE-AUTHOR DEVOTEES

They are quite numerous.

They harbor a spontaneous and unshakable passion for one specific author and tend to fill their shelves almost exclusively with their favorite’s works. The Kingites are the most numerous, but you’ll also find Rowling enthusiasts, Sparks fans, and Dean Koontz loyalists. James Patterson’s Facebook page, for instance, has over three and a half million followers.

The one-author devotees are often resistant to other literary offerings and tend to reread the same book over and over. Some have even read it ten times, including the original language version and the quirky edition written in Cyrillic.

They never miss out on the reprint with the new cover, the exorbitantly priced first edition snagged on eBay, or the novel translated by that particular interpreter. I get it, to some extent. I, for example, am obsessed with King, madly love Koontz, and am developing a crush on Lansdale.

But our friends, the ones at the pathological level, aren’t satisfied with even the most prolific one-author catalog. Many tend to buy novels written by the beloved author’s relatives, those cobbled together by four or six hands, or those obviously handed over to uninspired ghostwriters.

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THE ONE-BOOK BUYERS

I know, I’m twisting the knife in the wound.

I’m sorry to do it, but the subject had to come up sooner or later.

The one-book buyers always show up in the bookstore when you’re in a hurry. They flood in a few days before Christmas and cluster around the pile of books that, a moment ago, had tripped an elderly lady with a cane.

They were heading to the outlet mall, but the line of cars made them postpone. They arrive, debit cards in hand, and make a beeline for the season’s buzzworthy book. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, it’s a good novel that deserved its success. Other times, the mountain of volumes blocking the display window and the afternoon sun is the biography of a footballer nearing retirement or a collection of a trendy comedian’s best jokes.

Then there’s the usual book by the TV host who’s been churning out one annually for at least half a century and the cookbook by a chef, teaching you how to make the same old pasta but in six painstaking hours.

The one-book buyer usually has the purchase gift-wrapped and sometimes browses other books, only to put them back with a promise to return. I won’t be the one to tell you that, most of the time, they forget their shopping intentions within a minute.

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THE BLURB FOLLOWERS

They’re decent readers but have little confidence in their instincts.

They arrive at the bookstore reasonably prepared, having followed debates and read various reviews of new releases, and they’re willing to spend money, dedicating time to browsing the shelves.

The blurb followers, however, often succumb to laziness and end up buying only books adorned with a promotional band.

The blurb is every writer’s dream. Sometimes it features an excerpt from a famous newspaper’s review, a quote from a celebrity, or a recommendation by a trendy musician. There’s also the boast about the gazillion copies sold and the massive success in the 175 languages the book has allegedly been translated into.

Blurbs are diabolical.

Whatever persuasive tidbit they contain, they manage to capture the blurb followers’ attention and convince them. I’ve fallen for it myself, and I swear, despite the authoritative opinion on that particular blurb, I went home disappointed, unable to find the promised magic in the pages, and lost a bit of respect for the author who approved it.

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THE BUY-BUT-NEVER-READ TYPES

I think they’re legion, numbering in the hundreds if not thousands.

They buy, download, rush to book fairs, and fill carts.

The “buy-but-never-read” types can accumulate dozens of titles only to abandon them on the shelves. Occasionally, they pass by the ranks of anonymous spines, only to leave with a massive sense of guilt.

These individuals, however, deserve credit for keeping the struggling publishing industry alive, though they’re guilty of letting the characters in those novels languish, desperately clawing at the pages, yearning to be set free.

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THE CHRONIC BOOK BORROWERS

I like to think they don’t understand how much work goes into publishing, that they’re unaware writers are rarely rich, and that they don’t know how precarious an author’s career can be with low sales.

The chronic borrowers have a trash can for a heart (citation needed) and would probably cheer for a dubious penalty awarded to the opposing team in the 93rd minute of a legendary match (an outburst of rage).

The chronic borrowers likely don’t realize that authors’ royalties are calculated on the cover price, minus bookstore discounts, taxes, distributor fees (which sometimes swallow half the value), and publisher rights. We’re talking about pennies per copy.

Do I like them?

Yes, because many of my readers have candidly admitted it to my face. And no, they weren’t obliged to know how exploitative the publishing world is.

Well, now they know.