/lit/ - Literature

Diper Överlöde

>>21597514
Also:

>Past the top 100 books, the numbers are dire. The average book sells 200 copies. An average "bestseller" sells about 2,000 copies. Almost all significant book sales are to "communities," typically book clubs, authors' social media followers, or interest groups (like true crime)

>>21597518
Zased. Keyed. Schwayed.

>>21597514
>The Very Hungry Caterpillar
Damn, I didn't think any anons would take my recommendations seriously...

>>21597514
>a softcore pornography (modern romance) and YA writer selling millions of copies
solar flare when

>>21597514
I've never heard of any of these except The Very Hungry Caterpillar.

>>21597514
>no book of history or politics sold more than 295,000 copies
nooooooooo

>>21597514
God I hate normies

>brown bear brown bear what do you see
Hate this shit

>>21597514
Dont mention twitter you piece of shit.

>>21597561
It’s a children’s book. It was always going to be in the top 100

>>21597514
Does anyone know how many copies McCarthy's new novels sold yet?

>>21597519
>bestseller 2000 copies
We’re unironically at the point where influencing /lit/ to read your meme book is a legitimate business strategy.

>>21597514
Alright, I'll bite: who is Colleen Hoover and why is she being shilled so hard?

>>21597514
Just proves people don’t read.

>>21599401
She is highly popular in the fastest growing demographic: fat lonely single 30+ year old women

>>21599401
As I sit here with one foot on either side of the ledge, looking down from twelve stories above the streets of Boston, I can’t help but think about suicide.
Not my own. I like my life enough to want to see it through.
I’m more focused on other people, and how they ultimately come to the decision to just end their own lives. Do they ever regret it? In the moment after letting go and the second before they make impact, there has to be a little bit of remorse in that brief free fall. Do they look at the ground as it rushes toward them and think, “Well, crap. This was a bad idea.”
Somehow, I think not.
I think about death a lot. Particularly today, considering I just—twelve hours earlier—gave one of the most epic eulogies the people of Plethora, Maine, have ever witnessed. Okay, maybe it wasn’t the most epic. It very well could be considered the most disastrous. I guess that would depend on whether you were asking my mother or me. My mother, who probably won’t speak to me for a solid year after today.
Don’t get me wrong; the eulogy I delivered wasn’t profound enough to make history, like the one Brooke Shields delivered at Michael Jackson’s funeral. Or the one delivered by Steve Jobs’s sister. Or Pat Tillman’s brother. But it was epic in its own way.
I was nervous at first. It was the funeral of the prodigious Andrew Bloom, after all. Adored mayor of my hometown of Plethora, Maine. Owner of the most successful real-estate agency within city limits. Husband of the highly adored Jenny Bloom, the most revered teaching assistant in all of Plethora. And father of Lily Bloom—that strange girl with the erratic red hair who once fell in love with a homeless guy and brought great shame upon her entire family.