Way back when this little ol’ blog began, I used to write solely about books. Now that I get to do that professionally, I reserve this spot for other random musings of the generic kind. Usually it has to do with Sister Friend. See? There, I did it again!
Still, I’m a reader. In fact, I’m on the eve of bouncing into the bright dawn age by getting a Kindle (it’s for work, I swear!) So I have to share this little tidbit with you.
I’m browsing Mary Balogh’s web site today for a bit of research and came around to her Bio page. Not only does she have some lovely candid photographs of her family (and I found out she lives in Canada, woo!), she also wrote something that totally struck me because, hey! I came to that conclusion, too!
I used to plod dutifully through every book I started, but that changed after I suffered through Moby Dick a number of years ago. Life is too short and there are too many unread books out there for time to be wasted on what does not entertain me in any way at all. (My italics)
Yes, yes…a thousand times yes!
I often read more than one book at a time. On average, I have about five going at all times. I read them in different places: the TTC, bed, the bathroom…basically anywhere you can fit a book, I’ve got one. Which isn’t a surprise, it’s not uncommon for bibliophiles to be voracious.
But some time ago, I decided that it was okay to give up on a book. I came to terms with it, if you will. Beforehand, I would try and plod through something just to get to the end of it. But one day–I believe it was while I was reading Anna Karenina–I thought, why am I torturing myself? Why am I slogging through this book to get to the end of it, if I don’t care about any of these characters, this plot, any subtext or even the words on the page?
I still finished Anna Karenina. Because old habits die hard. But afterwards, I grew to accept the fact that some books will never be finished. I can always attempt them again (looking at you, In the Name of the Rose) but I’ll be alright if I don’t get to the end.