John Roughan: Why has it become so hard to find a really good book?

There comes a point in life when you realise there are an awful lot of books you will never read. When it came to me, quite some time ago, it changed my reading habits.

Until then I'd finished just about every book I'd ever started. No matter how tedious the novel I'd persevere to the last page.

The book became a commitment that couldn't be broken just because it was dull. Completion was a kind of achievement, permitting one more literary claim to stand on my shelf.

Then one day the commitment could be broken. Not easily.

I still struggle to put a lifeless book aside and never without a wrenching sense of waste. I have to tell myself firmly, life is too short for fiction that fails to fire.

When I browse in bookshops now I'm almost afraid to buy. The odds of picking up something that will seize me seem increasingly remote, the struggle, the wrench and the waste all too probable.

So it was truly inspiring to read in the business section of this newspaper two weeks ago a comment by Doris Mousdale, until recently retail business manager for Dymocks which is closing on Queen St today.

Despite being a victim of the downturn in the book trade, or the miscalculations of the major chains, she was making plans to open her own bookstore in Newmarket in August.

"I'm feeling quite confident about it," she told the Herald's Maria Slade. "I think the independent bookstore has a lot to offer.

There are still people out there who want the next best read, and they want it recommended to them."

Hallelujah.

She's talking about me. A week or two earlier this column had sung the praises of dedicated wine shops that have responded to competition from supermarkets and big retailers by offering vastly superior service, particularly in the form of reliable recommendations.

Stores on the scale of Dymocks and Borders are not designed for this sort of service, though Dymocks at least has tried. It seems no time since it arrived to show this country that big book chains could be better than Whitcoulls.

Dymocks in its early days eschewed magazines or anything that detracted from its serious pitch. It introduced literary lunches in partnership with the Herald where paying diners could hear and meet a visiting author.

Then Borders came in with its alcoves and couches and Dymocks seemed dull. The owners of both have responded to the recession by running more of their operations from Australia. Dymocks has found the rent too much on Lambton Quay and now Queen St.

If ever there was an opportunity for small bookshops to prove their worth, this is it. Duly inspired by Doris Mousdale I went that weekend to the nearest serious independent outlet and challenged the owner, pleasantly I think, to sell me a really good novel.

"Something realistic and exceptionally good," I said. Maybe I was too pleasant.

Too quickly he put his hand on a book on the stand alongside. It was a new one, entitled The House of Special Purpose by John Boyne.

The blurb indicated it was set in Russia as seen from inside the Tsar's palace not long before the revolution. He assured me it was very good.

I'm reading it. It's not seizing me.

Less confidently, he also pointed me to a more established author, Colm Toibin's latest, Brooklyn. It's better. Not great.

I'm going to continue the search for a bookseller as good as my wine merchant. Probably I'm a more discerning consumer of novels than wine but I don't think my taste unusual. A well written book moves most people who read it.

I don't know how frequently a truly good novel is published but booksellers should display them like gold, keep them always in stock, and make it their business to recommend nothing else. They have no right to waste our time and money on the mediocre.

Newspapers and other publications that carry book reviews could also be doing a better job for readers in need of reliable recommendations. Reviewers, like critics of restaurants, music, movies and theatre (unless locally produced), too often effect an attitude of jaded sophistication that does not allow enthusiasm.

It is a mystery that so much useless criticism is published. What is the point of writing about flawed films, books or food? Let me know when you find something really good.

Possibly reviewers resist enthusiasm for fear they might help sell anything. There is a deep-seated antagonism to marketing and commercialism in the critical community.

Booksellers, though, have no such qualms, and every reason to offer reliable recommendations. So why is a good book so hard to find?