Welcome to the grand circus of American literature, where the tents are decked with glitter and the spotlight shines on the superficial while the unique slips through the cracks, unnoticed, like so many lost socks in the dryer of cultural consumption. Here we are, ladies and gentlemen, applauding the absurdity of a society so transfixed by the famous that the air is thick with the scent of ignorance, and every corner is filled with the echoes of misguided adoration.

In the primeval ooze of 2008, as the great recession unfurled its tentacles and gripped the nation in a money-saving stranglehold, true literary gems found themselves suffocated under mounds of obscurity. We had hardships, yes, but the real tragedy was that while we pored over headlines about bank collapses and financial doom, we overlooked the earnest words of writers whose works blossomed quietly, begging for attention amidst the clamor of celebrity gossip and reality TV disasters. Here’s a thought—maybe if these authors dressed in sequins and dated A-list pop stars, they might have gotten their fair share of limelight.

Fast forward to 2014, a year where mainstream mediocrity became the golden standard for success. Without an army of publicists or a commercial budget large enough to fund a small country, anything outside the realm of the famous was destined to languish in the forgotten archives—a veritable graveyard of tomes gathering dust alongside bad decisions. This was the year when everything unique slipped further into oblivion, eclipsed by an avalanche of marketable mediocrity dressed as “literature.” Don’t let authenticity dawdle in the corner when you can have something shiny and superficial on your bookshelf, right?

Oh, but let’s not overlook the audacity of this elitism! The literary snobs—those godlike beings who possess the exquisite ability to wave their judgmental wands and declare what is considered “worthy”—wouldn’t care to crack open a book unless it came with a glossy cover and starred in a blockbuster trailer. The intellectual gladiators of our age seem blissfully unaware that true creativity doesn’t need accolades; it merely needs people willing to look beyond the surface. But why would they do that when they can meet their tricks of the trade and dive down a rabbit hole of social media influencers?

Herein lies the delicious irony: for every unique book languishing on the dusty shelves of oblivion, an eager reader exists, a rare breed that hurls themselves into the abyss of these unrewarded pages only to discover that the stories whispering to them from the confines of neglected spines are rich with beauty and depth. “What on Earth,” they gasp, “has the world deprived us of?” But alas, those few who dared join this lonely journey remain mere blips in the vast sea of pop culture, while the more aesthetically pleasing, star-studded drivel hogs the spotlight like a diva demanding a standing ovation.

And speaking of absurdities, let’s chat about our noble boycott of Amazon—the veritable giant that everyone loves to rail against! In this tragicomic tale, out go the righteous protests without a second thought about who actually suffers. Spoiler alert: it’s the authors struggling at the fringes, shouting into the void as they wait for recognition, only to find it stifled by misguided intentions. But by all means, let’s keep attacking the blue dildo! That’ll surely shake up the establishment, won’t it?

Ladies and gentlemen, the time has come to stop the absurd spectacle and turn the spotlight back to artistry in all its forms. Let’s cherish the idiosyncratic, the excellent oddities that tell stories worth hearing. For while the famous amass accolades, the unique remain desperately understudied—waiting for a society to awaken from its glitzy stupor and embrace the true heroes of creativity. Buckle up, folks! It’s high time to say “no” to the cult of celebrity and “yes” to the fascinating brilliance of the unheard.