Morass of Morbidity

I wonder if there are others like me out there? People who are unable to stomach the dross that is being churned out nowadays. To my way of thinking it does not even remotely resemble literature - unless that is the definition of literature is a joining together of words that fail to convey anything apart from inducing feelings of melancholy and despair.

Perhaps that is why I stick to good old classic literature. 

My dad was bought a book for Christmas. He is well versed in pulp fiction but could not finish it. I endured one sentence. How in the name of fiction can it receive accolades?! 

I have to ask the question, 'Have modern readers lost their minds?'

I have just placed KURT LANGER : NEMESIS OF TERROR onto Amazon. I think and am told that it has the quality of being "literature" as well as being a thumping good tale. It will probably go the same way as an earlier novel and settle beneath the morass of morbidity.

If my blog, tucked away here in some obscure reaches of the web, is ever found I imagine that daring to question what is presented as literature will result in a plethora of shocked comments, as in, 'You must be mad if you cannot appreciate what is so clear to us!' But there is little to worry about, the collapse of literature is reflected by the collapse of thought. Nobody will care a jot what I think.