Most every book has a bit “About the Author.” But what I’d really like is to learn more about my readers, particularly those who aren’t blood relatives. This requires snooping, which means a certain measure of guilt, but not enough to stop me from discovering that many libraries keep track of their patron’s reading history. The logic is simple: you look up book X in the catalog, and discover that the folks who checked out Book X also checked out Books Y and Z. You might like them, too.

I took a peek at one such catalog of cross-interests, from the library in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and stole a look into the reading habits of those who’ve checked out Into Thick Air. I was happy to discover that my readers also read novels such as The Kite Runner and Lush Life. I’ve yet to read either, but knowing that my readers enjoy fiction pleases me. Why? A simple blind admiration for anyone willing to read an entirely made-up story.

 Of course there were plenty of non-fiction titles, too. Those about bicycle touring I expected, with books like Metal Cowboy: Tales from the Road Less Pedaled. But I did not expect The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists. 

Would someone finish my wholesome tale and immediately crave a quick sexual encounter? I certainly hope so. How else to explain Succulent Wild Women?

 But this, I suddenly realized, could very well be a feminist tract. And who checked out Flower Essences and Vibrational Healing? Without a clue about vibrational healing, I guessed it was an earth mother with long braids and a fondness for tea. It might even be the sort that would take a second look at Odd Ball Knitting: Creative Uses for Yarn. 

I was of course imagining my readers based entirely on their choice of books. It was easy. One person checked out The Great Mortality: an Intimate History of the Black Death and another checked out Breach of Faith: Hurricane Katrina and the Near Death of a Great American City. I imagined the readers imagining the carnage, and my imagined readers are now males.

 And so it went, between man (The Real History of World War II) and woman (Women in the Wild), young  (Where’s Waldo) and old (Knitting Vintage Socks). Many of my assumptions, I knew, were nonsense (an old person would already know how to knit vintage socks) but it made no difference. What mattered was realizing this: there was no simple way to characterize the reader. My book attracted all stripes, and this made me very happy.