have you ever been afraid of reading a bad book?
i have. a lot. i look at the vast hallways of shelves at the library or the bookstore and while they are beautiful, all of the tomes encased with their shiny covers and smooth uncracked spines, i am overwhelmed. i will never have time to read all of them, so where do i begin?
i seek completeness. with endless options in front of me i need to set a limit somehow, to make these decisions easier. if i were jane eyre i would read what i could sneak out of the cupboard. if i were rapunzel in tangled i would read the same three books from my shelf every day. it would be easy and i could just read.
when i was little i would always try to find series books to read. i would read the first books of series until i found one that i liked, and then i would be guaranteed many or even many many that i liked nearly as much or even better.
while reading is such a personal thing, it’s also the opposite. i find the best books through recommendations, whether from friends or authors or bloggers or reading lists. very rarely do i pick up a random book and find that it’s one of my new favorites. [the best example of an exception is alan bennet’s the uncommon reader, and even then i picked up that book because i had read the history boys. but when will i pick up a random book by a random author and love it?].
it remains an unresolved confusion for me.
how do you choose books?