“Not very difficult. I think it’s pretty easy to identify what’s aimed at women: just check the sex of the author. It’s strange that men mostly write for both sexes, but women write for women. With a few honorable exceptions, of course.”
Miss Prim helped herself to a foie-gras sandwich and took a deep breath before turning to him.
“Women haven’t always written for other women,” she retorted. “It’s a fairly recent sociological phenomenon. Until around a hundred years ago, it was as common for men to read female authors as male.”
“If less pleasurable,” said the Man in the Wing Chair with a laugh.
The librarian put the sandwich down on her plate.
“Would you mind telling me what you’re laughing at?” she asked frostily.
He looked at her with calm delight.
“At you, of course. Isn’t that what I’m always doing?”
“And what’s funny about me at this moment, may I ask?”
“The fact that you always have a psychosociological explanation for everything. You should learn to see the world as it is, Prudencia, not as you’d like it to be. You don’t have to be very perceptive to see that a small boy will hugely enjoy readingTreasure Islandbut feel quite sick at the thought of—”
“Little Women, for instance?”
He nodded, smiling. “Indeed,Little Women.”
“Incidentally,” Miss Prim raised her nose self-importantly, “have you read it, finally? Or did you suddenly feel too sick to go through with it?”
The man drew his feet away from the fire, sat up straight in his chair, and moved it closer to the table, leaning forward as if about to play chess. She in turn reclined into her armchair and folded her arms across her chest, awaiting an explanation.
“I have read it.”
Miss Prim’s eyes widened, but she composed herself instantly, resuming her appearance of defiance.
“And?”
“I have to admit, it has a certain charm.”
“Well, well.”
“Yes, and I don’t mind the girls reading it, but it’s of no interest to me.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, it’s a minor novel, cloying and sentimental.”
The librarian sat up, glowering.
“Which is the greatest sin a human being can commit, isn’t it?” she said cuttingly. “You think sentimentality is a sort of crime, even a perversion, don’t you? Ice-cold, intelligent people don’t go in for sentiment. That’s for the common people and uneducated women.”
The Man in the Wing Chair stretched out his legs and leaned back again.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said. “You’d be amazed at what good taste in literature the common man has shown at various times in history.”
“Times that are past, never to return, I presume.”
“I’m not sureneveris the right word, though I suspect it may be. But now you mention it, I have to say that what you said about uneducated women and sentimentality is accurate. Of course nowadays the problem affects highly educated women as well.”
“As in my case, of course.”
“Indeed, as in your case.”
