I have a bad habit...Well, more than one, actually, but in this case, I'm talking about reading multiple books in parallel. Now, I know that there are plenty of other people who do the same thing but to my orderly, disciplined and somewhat masochistically obsessive compulsive mind this smacks of irreverent gluttony. I should be able to devote my full attention to just one book at a time, from start to finish, shouldn't I?
For some two years I had retreated almost entirely into the online world and have cut down my time with an actual book in hand. Don't misunderstand, I didn't stop reading, never that... It's just that my tastes took a detour and my reading became a lot more erratic, done in little snippets and bursts without any sort of a connecting thread.
I continued rereading my favorites but although I do get something out of every book I reread, most of the books I've been reading and rereading over the last couple of years (with few notable exceptions) have been what I would call "comfort food" books. Easy to swallow, easy to digest, gives you a warm and fuzzy feeling for a few hours or days and then just as easily forgotten.
In that restless time I've gone back to reading just one book at a time which could sometimes stretch into weeks. When I'm engaged, I swallow pages as quickly as I spit out words. To have a three hundred page book stretch into a couple of weeks seemed such a bloody waste of time but without motivation, reading became a passive and sluggish exercise.
I'm not sure what served as a turning point. Perhaps it was a couple of books I read recently that didn't fall into that "comfort food" category. Perhaps the fact that when I get home these days I don't immediately rush to plug in my laptop. Or it could be that a few recent discussions I've participated in and people I've met pointed out, ever so subtly, that my mind has been stagnating.
Whatever the impetus, I'm reading again. And just as a reluctant dieter will cram in a triple chocolate brownie on the sly, awash in guilt and promising to do better the next day, so am I cramming in books and buying more, all the while promising myself that I'll read them slowly, that I'll savor them and really and truly read every word. Ok, who am I kidding?
And now I'm reading...
Story of O by Pauline Reage, because even reading it for the fifth time, I cannot get over the beauty of the language and the savagery of the descriptions. And because I keep hoping that this time I'll find, hidden deep in the flowing torrent of words, the key I've been looking for.
Tara Road by Maeve Binchy, because I have a long standing love hate relationship with this book. It's no darker than her other books but it has a poignant sadness to it than I don't feel when I read most of her other works and I will only reread Tara Road when I need to reassure myself that life isn't supposed to be fair.
The Meaning of Night by Michael Cox - this is a new book and I've just started reading it. I'm literally on the first page and already I can tell that whatever the content, the language and the setting will keep me going.
Warlock by Oakley Hall - this is another new book and also one I've just started reading. It is a book I was told to read and I've started it before but after a few pages, life interfered and I never picked it up again. I'm restarting it now and this time I will finish it.
What an odd collection it is! And for anyone who wonders how I don't confuse time periods and characters and story lines... if you're like me and you've indulged in this sort of gluttony, then you know that going from book to book is like walking in and out of separate, sumptuously appointed rooms in the same house; each distinct and complete in its furnishings but unmistakably unique. You can't combine or mistake one for the other, it just isn't possible.
And if you've never done it, take my word for it or pick up two books at once and try it for yourself. Happy reading...
