At some point I became very stingy with my reading brain space, which is to say, instead of reading anything I came across, I started choosing not to read many things, sometimes for good reasons, often for no other reason than that I didn’t have a good enough reason to keep reading.
Perhaps it happened when I realized most of the chick lit I read involved an unhappy wife with cheating always involved by someone at some point. Been there, done that, don’t want to read about it for funsies, thanks.
Then I stopped reading things that haunted me, story lines involving pain or misery or things I couldn’t fix but couldn’t get out of my head.
I read biographies for a while, then travel memoirs, then biographies about people who traveled. Eventually I wore out that section at my favorite secondhand bookstore.
I had a kid, pored over hundreds (it felt like) of books about sleeping and not sleeping, feeding, and the more sleeping. I stopped reading those because they were all mindf*cks, every one, and as someone who tends toward the dogmatic application of anything, they made me quite miserable when I inevitably failed.
And now, here I am. I loved the two witchy books by Deborah Harkness, can’t wait for the third, but in the meanwhile, can’t find anything quote so engrossing. I’ve reread each book two or three times now, even, mostly because they’re on Kindle and easy to read when I don’t want to bother finding a light. She was kind enough to post a list of recommended books but still… none have quite caught my attention.
I miss wanting nothing more than to finish what’s in front of me so I can go back to reading; hiding in the bathroom to get a few more pages in; counting down until I can curl up on the couch to read; knowing it’s getting later than I should be awake but reading more anyway.
Any recommendations? Note: I don’t want to read Gone Girl. Here’s mine in exchange: An Everlasting Meal is a beautiful, beautiful book, lovely to read and inspiring to boot.