Indeed, that there is no university course in this subject is a source of continuing amazement to me.
The contemporary digitally-quickened world, fuelled by so much mind-bending information, has meant everyone is an expert on something, everyone read something on Google just the other day and can bore the pants off you for a full hour if you are not rude enough to just wander off.
I usually just wander off, but a Sunday lunch I attended a couple of weeks ago was so sodden with smart people that there was simply no room to wander TO.
Three times my attempt to wander off led me to walk into a wall, so, with nose bleeding lightly, I stepped back into the throng and commenced discussion, for me a synonym for lying.
It was a strange experience which I did not understand until I got home and noticed in the mirror that I had been wearing a Dunedin Public Library T-shirt.
This explained why every discussion I had at this party involved my warding off questions about books, what was I reading, and, worse, what would I recommend.
Unaware of the T-shirt, I decided this was just topic co-incidence (TC), and flew by the seat of my pants all afternoon, this in front of people to whom books were like blood itself.
I do read, of course, but usually non-fiction.
I read plenty of fiction as a lad, but in recent decades, I have been far more interested in human behaviour, hence a memoir is much more fun, the subject invariably emerging as either exceptionally interesting, or a congenital liar.
Either way, this holds my attention. Unlike, say, The Luminaries, which I read through social pressure and confronted at the start of each day as I would confront housework, a huge job that just had to be done.
As Kylie Minogue once said, with big fat books, do not ever bring value judgements to the table.
The good thing about people thinking you are Book Guy is that it is quite easy to lie like a bastard.
Good books are filled to overflowing with Olympic fencing repartee, hence to answer a book question with Olympic fencing repartee is entirely appropriate.
''Have you read Marilynne Robinson?'' might have been the kind of court-martial question flung from the judicial bench that Sunday afternoon where anonymity was sacrosanct.
''Who, Barbara, in their right mind, hasn't?'' could well have been my liar's response, an epee thrust guaranteed to get me to the next round.
''I think the opening paragraph to Housekeeping is as perfect as an opening paragraph can be,'' might possibly have been Barbara's next riposte.
''Is not good writing so often about control?''
I could have replied, palms opening.
My fellow reader might well have smiled broadly at this point, comfortable with the fact she was duelling with an equal.
I eventually wandered off when a rare opening occurred in the hallway, where I was peppered with esoterica about someone called Junot Diaz.
This sounded like the name of a racehorse to me, but I am Book Guy, I must make stuff up.
''Oh my God!'' I exclaimed, eyes widening.
''You like Junot Diaz TOO?''
''Which is your favourite?'' might have come the next line.
Difficult.
But if one keeps cool during larceny, then dory will follow hunky.
''It's very hard to go past the first one,'' I replied, after stroking my chin.
In books, the first one is often quite good. And note I said THE first one, not his or her.
At this point I didn't know if Junot Diaz was a man or a woman.
Or, indeed, a racehorse.
And so the afternoon went.
I think I would have got a B-minus, which, as a rehabbed sociopath, is all I ask of a social function.
I have since read Marilynne Robinson and she is fecking stunning.
Who else would write ''eschewed awakening'' instead of ''died''?
Books! Writers! The BEST!
• Roy Colbert is a Dunedin writer.
