Galleycat wonders ablog if social networking sites like Goodreads can supplant the studied expertise of professional book critics.

Martial Flourish

VS.

Or something like that.

It's an interesting question not just for the Steinbeckian pre-teens in the UK or dead Russian novelists, but for the contemporary poetry tribes, too, since poetry criticism in major media outlets is pretty slim, and seeming to get slimmer or more fatuous by the year.

I get emails every day from people asking me to connect with them on Goodreads, to look at their updated Goodreads page, or to just read a goddamn book already. But I have yet to get involved because I have nagging icky feelings about the whole process.

I'd rather ask someone face to face what she's reading than go check online, but I also like to forage for berries after a long morning of waxing my handlebar moustache, so perhaps I'm not so au courant.

Talking with a friend at Open Books the other day, we both agreed it would be nice to feel like we could ride the crest of the present's wave with a giddy optimism, but most of the time our little rafts feel swamped.

But as I type this, I think I should go check out my dormant Goodreads account to find out what my friends have been reading, how many stars they're giving what, and if they've uploaded a super cute picture to their profile (OMG! They totally have!)