It was sort of tongue and cheek why I prefer American authors, but I will explain how I cam to such a conclusion, using that Plato book as the example.
The over/under of books I read in whatever time is probably 1,000, though the under may be the safer bet, but not by much. I used to read a lot of non-fiction, text types, historical, and the such. You know, learning material. Whenever I would try to join in a discussion of, say, Antebellum, once it was discovered that my knowledge was obtained by reading library books and not that of the formal classroom, anything I had to say on the subject was immediately dismissed by the more learned and my input was nullified. Fine, so I just quit reading those types of educational books. No need to try when failure is the predicted outcome. That Plato book would surely book considered a learning book, so that is strike one.
I’m also political minded. Could surely hold a discussion on my own, and do. However, I really don’t want to read any book by a politicain, political pundit, commentator, radio host, TV news show guy or any of that. I won’t read It Takes a Village, The Way Things Ought to Be, Lessons of my Father, The Savage Nation, or anyone in that genre. If I were interested in what they had to say, I’d just turn on my radio or CNN or the like. I have no interest in reading their books, and that Plato thing surely is in this category.
I like to have fun when reading. I hated The Great Gatspy. Threw away The Grapes of Wrath after about 80 pages (Though that thing about the turtle still does fascinate me) and just don’t like any book that takes itself too seriously. Sure, there may be exceptions to prove this rule, like Hangover Soup, maybe, but as a whole, not my thing. Plato took himself too seriously. Another strike.
After reading and reading and reading, I found very few books by foreign authors I really liked. The ones I could think of are The Black Violin, Guitar Girl, the Theodora series, Please, Mr. Einstein, and Soap Suds. So many more, like War and Peace, Moby Dick, the confusing The Visitors Book, anything by that Jane Austen lady. Just couldn’t connect with them. They either talk way too smart or use language I am not familiar with (That bloke gave my 5 quid for a pint) causing me to have to stop and look up words to understand what in the world they are talking about. Plato surely strikes a whiff on this one.
It’s just that I have found more enjoyment reading books written by ladies (westerns and sports books the exception) who are younger who write about single young ladies who move to the big city and try to make a life for themselves. That’s what Slave to Fashion, an English written book, was about, but that went back to the library after about 30 pages. Was way too out there for me. And, yes, this 6’1”, 250 daddy who doesn’t get professional haircuts or hasn’t shaven in over a decade is quite often seem wherever it is he goes carrying, and enjoying, those Avalon Career Romance books. I may get a funny look reading them, but I don’t care. And seeing that that Plato book isn’t in the category, the old man had struck out.
Oh, and I read Shakespear in high school—hated it!!!
Really, though, as much as I’d love to just go into the library, grab the book closest to the door, and read every one in order, it just doesn’t work out that way. I found a style and type of book I like, and see no reason to change. My curent book is a Monk mystery, and next on the list is Extracurricular Activities—about a murder at a college, the second in a series.
I did, however, download that Iliad on my phone Kindle. Will give that a chance in due time.
Hope this isn’t too close minded or whatever, but if you like cheeseburgers for dinner every night, there’s realy no need to buy a caserol dish.
Oh, and @SavoirFaire—despite what you may read into some of my statements on the Fluther thing here, I’m not a nut job. But thanks for your concern.