Ian McEwan is absolutely right:

Three years ago, McEwan culled the fiction library of his London town house, in Fitzroy Square. He and his younger son, Greg, handed out thirty novels in a nearby park. In an essay for the Guardian, McEwan reported that “every young woman we approached … was eager and grateful to take a book,” whereas the men “could not be persuaded. ‘Nah, nah. Not for me. Thanks, mate, but no.’ ” The researcher’s conclusion: “When women stop reading, the novel will be dead.”

I’m certainly counting on women to sell my next novel.

2 thoughts on “

  1. What was on the front cover of said books? At the risk of sounding faintly mysogenist I can tell you now that it probably didn’t involve lasers/monsters/large planets exploding.

    Maybe men are just naturally more suspicious of freebees?

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