Literary junk food.
It’s a phrase that popped into my head one night, and for a brief moment, I thought I’d stumbled upon something original. Then, a quick Google search brought me back to earth. Turns out, it wasn’t new at all. Well, crap! It felt like I’d missed out on a million-dollar idea. But thinking about it, I probably heard the phrase before and just remembered it out of the blue. Either way, it’s a fun little expression, isn’t it?
At first glance, “literary junk food” is simple to understand: low-quality material that lacks substance but still delivers a little enjoyment—much like actual junk food. Some books fit the bill. For example, Harlequin romance novels come to mind. They’re predictable, follow formulaic plots, and aren’t exactly known for literary depth. Yet, they bring genuine joy to millions of readers. That’s the thing about junk food—it’s not meant to be gourmet; it’s meant to satisfy a craving.
But here’s where the term becomes misleading: storytelling is subjective. What one person dismisses as “junk” might be another person’s treasure. I once had a friend who passionately argued that Ed Wood, famously dubbed the worst director of all time, was simply born before his era. Yes, that Ed Wood—the man behind Plan 9 From Outer Space. And you know what? He has at least one devoted fan, which proves my point: storytelling is personal.
Still skeptical? Let me push it further. I actually enjoy reading Harlequin romance novels. Sure, some are exactly what you’d expect, but others are surprisingly well-written. Even the great Stephen King, widely regarded as a master of storytelling, has been dismissed as “trash” by some literary academics. If even King can be divisive, how can we define literary junk food with certainty?
At the end of the day, terms like “junk food” oversimplify what storytelling means to people. Whether it’s Harlequin novels, Ed Wood movies, or Stephen King’s work, it all comes down to the individual experience, and in the end, isn’t that what really matters?
