It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a
single man in possession of a good mind, must be in want of a good book to
read.
I try to
read, I really do. Or at least I really try to think I try to read. I go to the
library, for instance, and I walk down the aisles there, smelling the books, thinking
that the sheer amount of pages and sentences and paragraphs in that place is
pure heaven. I even borrow some books, occasionally. Renew them repeatedly,
hoping that I’ll get around to open them. Return them, unread, slightly past
the final due date.
But, soft! what light through yonder window
breaks? It is the east, and this book is the sun!
I used to
be an avid reader. I learned to read at an early age, and from then on I devoured books like other kids devoured – whatever they
devoured. Computer games? Stuff like that. I used to turn the light back on
after my parents went to bed, and read into the wee hours. I used to fall
asleep mid-book, dreaming up new storylines that frequently were better than
the ones I found on the pages. My family used to make jokes that I might as
well read the phone book, as it seemed not to matter to me what it was I read.
They don’t print the phone book anymore, which is good for the environment, but
bad for friendly jokes to taunt children who read a lot.
One Book to rule them all, One Book to find
them, One Book to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.
University
was a major turning point. The sheer amount of non-fiction I was supposed to
read put a strain of the amount of fiction I managed to read. Besides, the
attraction of relaxing with a good book after having read course material all
day was limited. Instead I did… What did I do? I didn’t have a TV. I didn’t
have internet for the first year. I must have spent time with
actual flesh-and-blood friends, or some other such weird activity. Plus I think
I visited my parents a lot. I even kept my job – in the local bookshop – in my hometown that entire
year. I remember that my recommendations got outdated, though. I never read
anything new, just kept using the same old favourites over and over. Regular
customers probably re-read a lot of books that year.
It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so
he shall never know how I love him; and that, not because he's handsome, Nelly,
but because I have to read this book.
Genre-wise
there was also a shift. I almost became a book snob. I had
gone from children’s books to young adult to whatever adult books I could get
my hands on, with a small lapse back into children’s and YA once I was old
enough to actually read the adult books. But then I started thinking about quality. Quality as defined by others. I
had a Nobel Literature Prize phase. It was short. Then I had a Booker Prize
phase. It lasted a little longer. I read classics; new, inventive works; and bestsellers
only if they were given some award or other.
All animals are equal. But some animals read
more books than others.
It didn’t
last. My dry spell for fiction during that first year of university was also a setback
for my snobbishness. I needed lighter reads, less complexity, to put me back on track. These days I don’t
consider the genre so much. If I like the look and feel of the book, if the back cover
description is appealing to me, if the book has an “x-factor” that makes me
want to read it, I will. Or rather, I will plan to. I buy it, or borrow it from
the library. Put it in the TBR-pile, physically or on Goodreads. And there it
stays, along with hundreds of other books I once planned to read. I never lose
faith, though, in my future ability to catch up with every book I once wanted
to read. Just you wait and see!
Why is a raven like a reading-desk?
All quotes in this post are from the first drafts of the famous books they were later to become. True story.
1 comment:
Mari, I just recently found time to read. I couldn't even think of reading before the summer. And library? What's that? No seriously, I haven't been in a library since . . . long time. :D
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