Thank you, thank you, thank you. I’ve stopped reading anything that even carries the vague scent of a list. Reading a list gives me a headache, as though the work done to try to extract so much as a drop of meaning is far more than the results warrant. A headache makes me irritable. Reading poor or cheap writing makes me more irritable. I can hear the clock ticking, time passing fruitlessly. Give me a good narrative, not a list about other peoples’ narratives. Headache gone.