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One of the last times we talked, you told me you didn’t really have a favorite genre. You said you would read any book or watch any TV show as long as it was good. I don’t deny that you have are very particular taste. And I am not trying to be reductive when I say this. I’m merely saying that I believe I have found a common thread in your entertainment choices.

Your favorite other lives to live and worlds to throw yourself into, whether they be deep in outer space, some dreary seaside town, or the regency era countryside, are the lives and worlds of people who are already good at something. To give credit where credit is due, you have little patience for stories where the protagonist is naturally good at something or magically good at something or (barf) the “Chosen One.” They need to have worked at it, but at some point before the story starts because you don’t really want to hear about that.

I don’t think it’s that uncommon. You just want to breeze past the hard part of getting in shape or mastering a new language or learning to paint or becoming a sleuth. And it’s a nice little vacation for you to pretend that you’re already there. Just like a vision board of future vacation destinations. It’s what everyone wants, and it’s so much easier to read about, and honestly to write, than it is to actually achieve. Every genre has this trope. It’s why your tastes are so widely varied across genres.

It’s why are you so gleefully ate up the story of a confident, jacked space lesbian in Gideon the Ninth. From the very beginning of the book, she could already do more push-ups than you could ever dream of doing. And that’s what you liked about. You like that it mentioned every once in a while the effort she put in and trauma she endured to get that kind of strength, but you would not have wanted to read a book about little Gideon training to become the wisecracking competent person she ultimately would.

It’s a nice little jaunt into a world where you, too, have already mastered some skill, but these books and TV shows have an extra secret bonus. Maybe they do it to make reentry into the real world a bit easier, maybe their creators do it out of subliminal jealousy. There is always some excuse buried in there to never, ever reach that level of achievement. In those little tidbits of backstory, there is always some trade off for that level of expertise. Maybe it was growing up so singularly focused on one pursuit, or some horrific trauma, or sacrifices made in adulthood, usually in the form of ruined relationships.

Take, for example, Ned from Pushing Daisies, I know, I know “but he’s magically good at something.” I would argue that he’s magically pretty capable, and the entertainment comes from his mistakes, but he is a skilled baker. Oh yes, he bakes beautiful pies, and does it so well he owns a bakery where he exclusively bakes pies. But what is the trade off? His mom is dead. They mention the correlation between the two pretty much every episode. And you wouldn’t take that trade.

So it really is the perfect vicarious experience. Pleasant enough to provide a brief respite from the real world but unpalatable enough that you’re not likely to linger.

-Carolyn