Has reading become a drag?
I read a lot. Not as many books a year as some of my friends, but let’s just say a book is always within reach. When I’m not reading, I’m writing. Writing about books. Or writing a book. Or writing (as is my current situation) two books. But sometimes, I just feel like I’m reading stuff I’m not really digging. Are you familiar? That book club book that your neighbor was enthralled with … but every page feels like meh? That book that makes you want to throw it across the room? Me too. You can call me. I’m your best girlfriend when it comes to books.
Recently, I read a book that was soooo good that as soon as I turned that last page, I went back to the beginning and read it again. The whole book. Back to back. And I wondered what it was about THAT book. And I wanted to read more books like THAT.
What was it about THAT book? It resonated. It reflected an experience of my own. The author wasn’t trying to tell me that she had it figured out … she was trying to figure it out ON THE PAGE. It was like talking it through with my best girlfriend. Was it this? Nope. Was it that? Probably. It was so transparent … genuine … flawed … let’s just say fucked up until it wasn’t. Because she figured it out. ON THE PAGE.
I’ve got my eyes open for more books like that. And I’m so glad that there are 2.2 million books published (according to UNESCO) in the world each year. Because you know what? I’m going to keep reading … so that I can find THAT BOOK.
