Much like writing, I come and go as a reader. When I was a kid I always had my nose in a book, but as an adult, life often gets in the way, whether it’s obligations or other hobbies I’m pursuing.
This past spring I did read more than usual, partly because I’m tracking my reading this year. I had a goal of reading 12 novels this year and I’m a very goal oriented person, so I’ve already hit that and kept going. Now I’m hoping for 20, but someone recommended I read A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth, and it’s 1500 pages, so that could easily take me through to the end of the year. Can I count it for three? Or maybe four?
Someone tagged me on Facebook last week to post my “favourite” seven books, covers only, no explanations. It’s a fun thing and it got me thinking. It’s really hard to pick just seven favourite books, isn’t it? There are just so many out there, and so many good ones.
I eventually came up with a list of seven, and I was surprised at how many were just from the past couple of years. I can look on my bookshelf and see books I loved as a teen, or as a young adult, or even as a new mom, and I feel fondly towards them, but somehow I have lost the passion. I’m almost afraid to re-read them, for fear of seeing them through new eyes and having the original sheen worn away. What was I thinking might run through my head, or something more like, wow, I was really a jerk back then to think this was cool.
Why is it that when it comes to music, I prefer the old favourites that take me back to my golden years, but when it comes to books, I seem to prefer the here and now? Perhaps that’s a topic for another post.
For now, at least, here are the seven favourites I’m going with on Facebook. Okay, I lied – here are a bunch more than seven, because I just can’t choose. What would your favourites be?