I have an innate problem with books. First, I find recommendations from friends, relatives, magazines, and suggestions from bookstore employees. Then, I purchase one of the recommended books. I proceed to read them until I reach just after the half-way point, set the book down on my night stand, and that ends my relationship with the current book. Rinse and repeat four times and you have the current status of my night table. I cannot commit to one single book.
On my night stand sits The World is Flat, The Bible, The Tipping Point, and Gang Leader for a Day. In the queue is DisneyWar, Microtrends, and Guns, Germs and Steel. I somehow managed to complete Freakonomics and Blink in a reasonable amount of time, which is unusual for me. Part of my problem is my unsatiable desire to learn. As soon as I discover a new topic that seems far more exciting that actually seeing out my current topic, I jump ship; and now you know the second part of the problem. There is a non-commital, relationship-phobe in me that springs to life only when confronted with books. It almost seems impossible to reach that final chapter in every book I crack open. I am not sure if Dave is lucky or unlucky due to this phenomenon, as I have managed to stay with him for over two years. I will let him decide.
My solutions is simple. I need to start a book, stop listening to Dave describe the books he whizzes through, and finish the one I began. In an effort to complete these tasks, I am going to incorporate my reading into this blog. Once a month, I will write a book recommendation. I will call it “Rachel’s Reads” or something less ridiculous. My creativity isn’t so spur-of-the-moment anymore, so forgive tacky, lackluster ideas. In the recommendation, I will include a summary of the book (hopefully something Amazon can provide), my personal likes/dislikes, and anything remarkable that stood out during the read.
We’ll see if the stack on the night stand ever shrinks, but honestly, I hope I always have a large pile of books sitting close to me. I like the feeling of swimming in literature, even if I am the pokiest reader in town.