The New York Times had an interesting and amusing piece on literary taste in relationships last Sunday:
Basic premise: people eliminate potential mates based on their choices in reading. Subpremise: women are choosier in this regard because they read more. One said, “It’s really great if you find a guy that reads, period,” although another said, "If I went over to a man’s house and there were those books about life’s lessons learned from dogs, I would probably keep my clothes on.”
The claim is, "Rare is the guy who’d throw a pretty girl out of bed for revealing her imperfect taste in books." Not that the author takes a solely hetero view: Augusten Burroughs tells of his horror in meeting a guy for a date who was carrying a worn copy of Proust by Samuel Beckett. “If there existed a more hackneyed, achingly obvious method of telegraphing one’s education, literary standards and general intelligence, I couldn’t imagine it.”
I'll fess up to a certain amount of snobbery in this regard. Back when I used to peruse match.com on a regular basis, anyone who listed The Da Vinci Code among her books last read was right out. And that particular standard appears in the Times piece as well.