Erin Wooddell
OK, OK. Maybe that's a bit of an overstatement. But it's important to note that after spending a few months wrapped up in the magical world of Harry Potter, almost every book I've tried reading since has struggled and failed to hold my attention.
Yes, I realize I'm a little late to the party. You have to realize that when Harry Potter first rocketed to popularity in the US, I was about 11, and as I began reading the first book, I became utterly distraught that this poor boy was living in a cupboard under the stairs. I was so heartbroken for him, I just couldn't continue. I remember asking my mom if it was OK that I didn't finish the book, and she had to reassure me that it was OK.
I've been a longtime fan of the movies, and feared finally reading the books would make me like the movies less; a common outcome when comparing a beloved piece of literature to its cinematic interpretation. Luckily, I found the opposite to be true. Questions I'd had that no one could answer were finally being explained across the pages of these books. I was so enraptured with Harry Potter, I kept thinking, "I'll never be a novelist. I'll never be able to draw people into a world as perfectly as J.K. Rowling has." (I may be just a teensy bit obsessed...)
I finished the series in May and I haven't read a book in its entirety since then.
OK, OK. Maybe that's a bit of an overstatement. But it's important to note that after spending a few months wrapped up in the magical world of Harry Potter, almost every book I've tried reading since has struggled and failed to hold my attention.
Yes, I realize I'm a little late to the party. You have to realize that when Harry Potter first rocketed to popularity in the US, I was about 11, and as I began reading the first book, I became utterly distraught that this poor boy was living in a cupboard under the stairs. I was so heartbroken for him, I just couldn't continue. I remember asking my mom if it was OK that I didn't finish the book, and she had to reassure me that it was OK.
I've been a longtime fan of the movies, and feared finally reading the books would make me like the movies less; a common outcome when comparing a beloved piece of literature to its cinematic interpretation. Luckily, I found the opposite to be true. Questions I'd had that no one could answer were finally being explained across the pages of these books. I was so enraptured with Harry Potter, I kept thinking, "I'll never be a novelist. I'll never be able to draw people into a world as perfectly as J.K. Rowling has." (I may be just a teensy bit obsessed...)
I finished the series in May and I haven't read a book in its entirety since then.
There's something you should know about me: I don't like to give up on things. Watching a bad movie in the theater, I don't get up and leave. I will sit through the entire two-hour film, hoping and praying that things will turn around and it will get better. Sometimes that happens, but most of the time it does not. The same used to go for reading. I'd suffer through an entire length of a book to cope with some sort of irrational guilt that if I quit, I was a terrible human being.
That was the sad state of my life, up until a few years ago.
I was learning the ropes at my very first post-graduate job, chatting with my coworkers late one night about what I was currently reading. I mentioned my distaste for the author and storyline, and how I couldn't wait for it to be over.
One of my coworkers, a kind, middle-aged gentleman who had so much wisdom about the media industry, quirked his brow and asked me, "If you feel that way, why on earth are you still reading it?"
I stuttered and stumbled, but truthfully I didn't have a real answer for him. I shrugged and said, "I guess I feel like I have to see it through."
He shook his head and said, "Erin, life is too short to read bad books."
What a novel thought! (Pun intended.) Really... who says I have to finish a book, simply because I started it? It's not a law, it's some ridiculous standard I hold myself to, and it's no way to live.
That was the sad state of my life, up until a few years ago.
I was learning the ropes at my very first post-graduate job, chatting with my coworkers late one night about what I was currently reading. I mentioned my distaste for the author and storyline, and how I couldn't wait for it to be over.
One of my coworkers, a kind, middle-aged gentleman who had so much wisdom about the media industry, quirked his brow and asked me, "If you feel that way, why on earth are you still reading it?"
I stuttered and stumbled, but truthfully I didn't have a real answer for him. I shrugged and said, "I guess I feel like I have to see it through."
He shook his head and said, "Erin, life is too short to read bad books."
What a novel thought! (Pun intended.) Really... who says I have to finish a book, simply because I started it? It's not a law, it's some ridiculous standard I hold myself to, and it's no way to live.
After college, reading has become a luxury, what with work, maintaining a home and a social life. There is only so much time in each day and you have to make sure your time is well-spent. I usually only squeeze in reading before I go to bed each night. A lot of my friends are in a similar situation, and really, who wants to spend their final moments of the day, trudging through a book that just doesn't speak to them?
Not me. Not anymore.
My rebellion against bad books has gone so far that when I joined a book club upon moving here, I didn't read a single book that was assigned. Granted, it was a strange smattering of people, and the titles they chose were things I would never be interested in. I felt guilty, but the experience was worth it, and I enjoyed myself despite my ignorance of the material. (Word to the wise: Showing up at a book club meeting without having read the book and then voicing opinions about the plot and characters--of which you really know nothing—makes you look dumb.)
So for the past few months, I've been on a quest for a new book. I've tried humor, mystery, drama, sci-fi, romance, and nothing has been able to quench this thirst I feel.
This past weekend, I had some extra time on my hands and wasn't traveling—a rarity these days. I decided to try a book my mom read and loved several years ago; a book I've been carting around with me through three moves, convinced I'll eventually get around to reading it. After the first chapter, I thought, "Eh, it's not that great," but I kept going, and for once, my perseverance has paid off. I'm actually enjoying a book—for the first time since May—and I can't wait to keep reading!
Not me. Not anymore.
My rebellion against bad books has gone so far that when I joined a book club upon moving here, I didn't read a single book that was assigned. Granted, it was a strange smattering of people, and the titles they chose were things I would never be interested in. I felt guilty, but the experience was worth it, and I enjoyed myself despite my ignorance of the material. (Word to the wise: Showing up at a book club meeting without having read the book and then voicing opinions about the plot and characters--of which you really know nothing—makes you look dumb.)
So for the past few months, I've been on a quest for a new book. I've tried humor, mystery, drama, sci-fi, romance, and nothing has been able to quench this thirst I feel.
This past weekend, I had some extra time on my hands and wasn't traveling—a rarity these days. I decided to try a book my mom read and loved several years ago; a book I've been carting around with me through three moves, convinced I'll eventually get around to reading it. After the first chapter, I thought, "Eh, it's not that great," but I kept going, and for once, my perseverance has paid off. I'm actually enjoying a book—for the first time since May—and I can't wait to keep reading!
Check back soon for more entries in our Biblio Files, complete with reviews and suggestions. Have you read any good books lately? Tweet me @adventuringMISS using hashtag #bibliofiles.