For a long time, reading was one of my great pleasures. I was constantly reading when I was younger – on weekends and after school, on vacation, at recess, and even late into the night when I’d sneak into the bathroom and read by the nightlight my parents kept there. I could devour a book in a few days. I never seemed to bring enough reading material on vacation that there wasn’t a point where we’d have to visit a book store to tide me over until we got home.
Sadly, this isn’t a pleasure that I’ve really kept up with. Partly, I think it’s a case of having spent so much of my grad school life reading that it’s become more work than relaxation to me. No matter how many interesting, intriguing, or thought-provoking texts I read, there was always an element of work attached to it. The materials needed to be understood, evaluated, retained, and applied in very important ways. This seems to make reading more of a high-pressure activity for me than the time to unwind that I’d like it to be.
On top of that, I had so little time for reading for pleasure that I also put a lot of pressure on myself to choose the perfect book for the limited time that I had. I constantly felt like I wanted to be reading the “right” book, one that would entertain, enlighten, inspire, fit my mood, and allow me to relax all at the same time – a very tall order (too tall, in fact). Unfortunately, the desire to choose the most ideal book out of the many that I have waiting to be read often means that I’d dither and debate so long that I’d rarely get to read very much at all, even to this day.
My hope this year is that I can get myself reading for pleasure again on a much more regular basis. Practically speaking, reading is an inexpensive, engaging, mind-opening hobby that can be done almost anywhere. But even more than that, I want to cry at sad books, laugh at happy ones, and rant at those that anger me. I’d like to lose Saturday afternoons engrossed in reading a book on the couch and stay up until 2 am flipping through the pages of something that I couldn’t possibly put down.
In an effort to keep track of what I’ve been reading and buying, I’m going to try to do a monthly book report here. I’m hoping that it will be further incentive to read more and to eventually relax into reading without the associations of work and the pressure to choose that are all to common these days.
During February, I read:
- The Ocean at the End of the Lane – Neil Gaiman
- Auguries of Innocence – William Blake
- Five Little Pigs – Agatha Christie
- The ABC Murders – Agatha Christie
- After the Funeral – Agatha Christie
- You Can Buy Happiness (And It’s Cheap) – Tammy Strobel
I also bought (all used):
- The Forest of Hours – Kerstin Ekman
- What Are People For? – Wendell Berry
- The Owl Pen – Kenneth Wells
- The Morte D’Arthur – Thomas Mallory
- Short Novels – John Steinbeck
- The Winter Queen – Boris Akunin
- Middlemarch – George Eliot
- Dharma Bums – Jack Kerouac
- The Golem and the Jinni – Helene Wecker
Looking at these lists, it also strikes me that one of my aims should probably be to read at least as many books in a month as I bring home. Books are a weakness for me – actually, it could probably be argued that they’re my greatest vice – and the fact that I can buy them very inexpensively very close to home has resulted in a vast surplus of reading material. I’d like to make my way through more of what I have, keep what I love, pass along what I don’t, and build a collection of books that I really love.