I found out a few moments later that there exists some debate in academic circles (by this I suspect, debates held mostly within the dark, locked rooms of Oxford and Cambridge Universities in England) about whether or not her work is of genuine literary merit. This observation almost made me spit my half-chewed piece of cheese across the room - which would have been a shame because I was enjoying it, and my stomach was looking forward to receiving it - in exasperation.
To me it simply beggars belief that anyone can seriously question the literary merit of the world's most successful author. Her statistically proven success means, in simple terms, that it is highly likely that more people have enjoyed her works than any other authors. This is, in my opinion, the highest, most meritorious achievement that an author can achieve. Just as art is meritorious whenever it is enjoyed by another (whether than means quiet, serious contemplation or a broad grin, or even laughing out loud), just as music of all different genres has merit by virtue of the enjoyment it brings, so enjoyment of literary works confers merit upon them.
For anyone to imply that the works of the world's most successful author may lack merit is pompous, snobbish arrogance of the most bewildering kind, and is the kind of nonsense which deserves to disappear up it's own bum hole - and quickly.
For the record; I haven't read any of her books.