One of the many things I absolutely love to do is read. I read a lot of things—blogs, news articles, nonfiction, comics, trilogies, YA, classics, and so on. But nothing, in my opinion, beats sitting down and relaxing with a good old fashioned novel. And not those kindles or nooks or whatnot. Although they’re great and convenient and cheap, I love the smell of fresh pages, the feeling of spine bending. I love everything about the reading experience.
In fact, I’m a big believer that no matter how busy life is, you should always be in the middle of at least two books and that one of these books should be a religious text. But going on…
I was nearing the end of a novel the other day when my roommate came up to me with a book. She explained that her uncle had wrote it and that I could read it if I wanted to. She herself hadn’t read it. She doesn’t have the love affair with books that I do. But the book looked short—135 pages, to be exact—and I thought, why not?
I finished the book I was reading and picked up the book my roommate had given me. I wasn’t able to find much on the internet about it. You can’t buy it on Amazon, nor does the book or the author have a Wikipedia page. The publishing company is one I had never heard of before. I thought for a second that if the book lived up to my high expectations, I could claim I read it before the rest of the world did.
This vision of discovery was dashed after the first chapter. Actually, after the first page. Although the author showed talent for writing, what he was writing wasn’t as impressive. It was clichéd and old fashioned, with lines like “holy horse hair, you scared the living life out of me!” (by the way, this was written in 2006 with no indication that it’s historical fiction) It’s a typical story written with clichéd characters and nothing whatsoever to grab my attention.
I really had no desire to read on, even if it was short. Because truth is, there are so many books in the world--so many great books in the world—that I just don’t have the time to spend reading a book on the lower end of decent. Every time a reader opens a book, it’s not just a commitment to read to the end, but it’s a commitment that they will take that time out of their life, time that they will never get back, to read that book.
I was talking with a friend about the subject of putting books down. She said she will very rarely put down books. However I’m quite the opposite. I put down books all the time. Don’t get me wrong, when I’m starting to lose interest in a book, I’ll read on before I decide to drop the book entirely. After all, what if the book gets better? But honestly, with most books I read, if the book hasn’t pulled me in within the first fifty to a hundred pages, I’ll put it down. If I’ve heard good things about it from trusted sources, I’ll give it a few more chances.
You can think I'm harsh, close-minded, or daring for my philosophy. Think it all you want.
I’m getting ahead of myself.
Books. They’re great. But the fact is you can walk into any Barnes and Noble and look around at the endless spines of books waiting to be picked up and read and you have to make a decision on which ones you’ll choose. No one will be able to read them all in a lifetime. Life isn’t just reading—it’s going to college for one thing in my case. I could even make an analogy that life is like a book and that by living it you’re reading it. So why waste it?
