The doom of new books

When I was a child, my favorite hobby, or rather my only hobby, was going to a library and leaving there with as many books as I could carry.

I would spread them around myself, and then nothing else mattered except reading and reading and reading more, like the goddess of greed itself.

So maybe you can understand my frustration when I say that most new fantasy books are trash, real trash. The same characters: a naïve but smart extraordinary girl who is different from everyone else, and a strong, cold, witty boy with big muscles who can make any girl fall for him with just one smirk. Then come the same incidents, the same side characters with no depth, the same dialogues.

You learn nothing, you feel nothing, you don't change by it. You may enjoy it, but you won't live with it.

Writers mostly care about money, higher sales, and fame these days, and all they have are clichés, more clichés, and erotic scenes to sell more.

It breaks my heart to stand and watch this regression, or perhaps I should call it a decline: the decline of magical worlds hidden between simple words; the decline of living, adventuring, loving, fearing, fighting, winning, losing, and dying through pages.

I weep for the future. I read books with grief, and I hope that when I die, I wake up in a little hobbit hole in Middle-earth, or inside a crowded inn bustling with people, with an old lute in my hands and beautiful songs in my head.
i must apologize for my lack of proficiency in English, it is not my first language