The choice of books have been bad this year.
I ended up with a lot of books that I simply dropped half-way (Curious Lives, Notes to Myself), was too overwhelming to even begin (A Suitable Boy) or, too boring and make you feel cheated at the end of it (The Shadow in the Mirror) and, some that have been waiting for me patiently (Naaneke Bareyuthene?), somewhere behind many others in the ignored corner of the bookshelf.
Mostly, those books that I left without finishing tell more about myself than about the style/content/quality of writing. For example, I was eagerly looking forward to reading 'Notes to Myself' by Hugh Prather. I thought I would benefit a lot from it, considering the confusion that has hit me this late in life. Sadly, it refused to help me. Forget motivating me to change my outlook or life, it couldn't motivate me to even continue reading it further. And the blame squarely lies on me. I know. I am probably not ready to get out of my misery-hole, that murky pool of anxiety where I wallow day in and day out. I am just not ready to move my limbs. The spark of determination is still nowhere to be seen - how can I even light up my hopes?
Similarly, I wanted to complete 'Curious Lives' by Richard Bach. I pretty much enjoyed the first half of the story. But when I realised I will be jumping from one inspirational tale to the other, my pessimistic mind simply wasn't interested in continuing the book. I still don't understand why I just let it go.
I can't undo it, since I have already returned the library book. I do regret this a bit. Quite a bit.
Feeling cheated of effort, energy, focus and time by a lousy book is not new to readers - I think I should have known better and stop such attempts at reading, even if they are supposedly 'a light read' and hike up your numbers in the Book Reading Goals.
And then there is the curious case of highly interesting books from your favourite author - you have enjoyed them thoroughly till some point and suddenly it grows more complex and requires far more focus and understanding from you. That's when you lose it. You'd want to read something 'light' and 'breezy' just go get over that anxiety of missing out the real meaning behind the author's words, and end up reading lousy ones. And then you fear going back to that interesting book from your favourite author.
I am planning to give up my library membership. This trend of reading lousy books/half-read or simply returning unread books because you have borrowed it for far too long, began with the library books. Let me pretend that I am jinxed here. The real reason is, I have too big a To-Be-Read pile of my own books to borrow from library and return unread books. By doing so, I feel as if I am being extravagant and arrogant.
I ended up with a lot of books that I simply dropped half-way (Curious Lives, Notes to Myself), was too overwhelming to even begin (A Suitable Boy) or, too boring and make you feel cheated at the end of it (The Shadow in the Mirror) and, some that have been waiting for me patiently (Naaneke Bareyuthene?), somewhere behind many others in the ignored corner of the bookshelf.
Mostly, those books that I left without finishing tell more about myself than about the style/content/quality of writing. For example, I was eagerly looking forward to reading 'Notes to Myself' by Hugh Prather. I thought I would benefit a lot from it, considering the confusion that has hit me this late in life. Sadly, it refused to help me. Forget motivating me to change my outlook or life, it couldn't motivate me to even continue reading it further. And the blame squarely lies on me. I know. I am probably not ready to get out of my misery-hole, that murky pool of anxiety where I wallow day in and day out. I am just not ready to move my limbs. The spark of determination is still nowhere to be seen - how can I even light up my hopes?
Similarly, I wanted to complete 'Curious Lives' by Richard Bach. I pretty much enjoyed the first half of the story. But when I realised I will be jumping from one inspirational tale to the other, my pessimistic mind simply wasn't interested in continuing the book. I still don't understand why I just let it go.
I can't undo it, since I have already returned the library book. I do regret this a bit. Quite a bit.
Feeling cheated of effort, energy, focus and time by a lousy book is not new to readers - I think I should have known better and stop such attempts at reading, even if they are supposedly 'a light read' and hike up your numbers in the Book Reading Goals.
And then there is the curious case of highly interesting books from your favourite author - you have enjoyed them thoroughly till some point and suddenly it grows more complex and requires far more focus and understanding from you. That's when you lose it. You'd want to read something 'light' and 'breezy' just go get over that anxiety of missing out the real meaning behind the author's words, and end up reading lousy ones. And then you fear going back to that interesting book from your favourite author.
I am planning to give up my library membership. This trend of reading lousy books/half-read or simply returning unread books because you have borrowed it for far too long, began with the library books. Let me pretend that I am jinxed here. The real reason is, I have too big a To-Be-Read pile of my own books to borrow from library and return unread books. By doing so, I feel as if I am being extravagant and arrogant.
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