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I can see the culture editor raising her eyebrows in mock despair as I say how insanely excited I get when I receive pre-publication book proofs from publishers abroad. Pre-publication book proofs are those near-final, bound editions of a new book, strictly not for sale, that are sent out in very restricted numbers to potential reviewers, buyers, bloggers and other people whom the publisher and author would like to get early feedback from, prior to publication date.

There is something about receiving a copy of a new book that hasn’t yet hit the shelves. In fact, you will find that authors are usually extremely reluctant to sign pre-publication book proofs, because some signed proof copies do get resold on eBay for not insignificant amounts.

So anyway, after much badgering, begging and generally annoying him on Facebook and elsewhere, I got my pre-publication copy of David Nicholls’ forthcoming new novel, Us. Nicholls is, of course, the author of gazillion-selling One Day, later made into a movie featuring Anne Hathaway. Us is his long-awaited comeback novel, five years after One Day.

The main character in Us, a lab scientist, is the embodiment of that sort of Brit who will travel abroad and invariably look for British pubs and who likes his art the way he likes his food: familiar, comforting, and just the thing to while away an hour or so. He marries Connie, a trendy artist who travels in edgy artistic circles, whose drug- and alcohol-fuelled parties are a world away from his staid coffee-and-biscuits get-togethers with his fellow scientists.

At one point, they have this conversation when facing their divergent views on what constitutes art:

“Shouldn’t art be an escape, a laugh, a comfort, a thrill? … No, said Connie, exposure brought understanding. Only by confronting the worst traumas of life could you comprehend them and face them down, and off we’d trot to watch another play about man’s inhumanity to man.”

A conversation on reading tastes can turn into a pistols-at- dawn situation

I smiled on reading that, reminding me as it did of the divide in the local literary community. For such a tiny grouping of people, it’s always amazed me how deeply the battle lines are drawn, and how reluctant to cross them most of us are. It’s not just that some authors feel they write to entertain, while other authors feel they need to serve a deeper, more political purpose; it’s the animosity with which followers of each camp look at the others.

Speak to any author, editor (or, indeed, publisher) for more than five minutes and the conversation will turn to the futility of the “other” kind of literature.

The reading-as-entertainment corner will chortle – Chardonnay in hand – at the pretentions of the highbrow literary crowd, the set piece being that literature is meant to be a form of entertainment and escapism, not something that will have you slashing your wrists through sheer boredom. In the other corner, the vegan-and-world-music set will tut-tut at how such-and-such is, “of course”, not literature but a waste of paper by deluded populists high on their unjustified sense of self-importance.

Which is all well and good. Literature, after all, is beautiful precisely for its subjectivity and how it impacts each reader differently. I, for one, would be extremely suspicious of a book that pleased everyone. But generally, one expresses a dislike for a book, and moves on.

Not so within the local literary community, where a conversation on reading tastes can turn into a pistols-at-dawn situation before you can say “I adore Murakami”.

I’m under no illusion that this is a purely Maltese phenomenon. But perhaps due to the size of the island and consequently the close proximity of ‘literary’people to each other, things tend to take a much more personal and affronted tone, much more quickly.

I have an experiment for you: turn up at any local book launch or literary event, and count the number of authors and book people from the opposing camp. No need to put down that wine glass, one hand will suffice.

I’m not trying here for a Kumbaya, let’s-all-get-along, vibe. Literature is arguably richer for the intensity with which its exponents argue their favourite subject matter. But speaking as someone who lives practically 24/7 with various factions of this crowd, the constant bickering gets very tiring very quickly. And yes, I’m including my own bickering and tut-tutting.

Me, I’m going back to finish read-ing my copy of Us, and to posting Facebook updates about it to annoy fellow Nicholls fans who haven’t received a pre-publication copy.