Your bookshelf brings all the boys in the yard.
Have you ever heard of a blog called, No Book Unread Project? It’s the brainchild of an aspiring writer who, in an effort to improve his writing decided that the best way to do that so was to read more. In his post, he figured he has 175 unread books. And for someone who has read 188 books in 2014, this is hardly an impossible task.
However, you need to consider the quality of the books in his shelves vs. what’s in mine. It’s not even close. He reads high fantasy books in the likes of R.A. Salvatore. More than likely door stoppers. The kind that has complicated, intricate world building. My TBR bookshelf houses a schizophrenic selection picked mostly on a whim, or because I gave in to the pressures of a particular book’s noisy buzz.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. One should never pit their reading choices against another’s. My point is, while my family and friends may think I have Robotic Reader Eyes, I tend to pick books that doesn’t strain my brain too much: contemporary, realistic, and sometimes, if I ate enough peanuts, literary fictions. So in reality, though it might look possible in paper, I don’t think it would be if we switch TBRs.
The TBR Dungeon.
In the beginning of the year, I must admit that I thought this is doable; that I can simply saunter down in the basement and pick a book to add to my reading rotation until all the dragons in the dungeon have been slain. As soon as I cleared the cobwebs and fluffed some of the dust bunnies away, however, the problems soon start taking turns bitch-slapping me in the face. Like, 453 of them.
Ain’t nobody got time for that!
These are books that have gone stale. They’re two to three years old. Unread. Old releases. Does anyone even care to read reviews of these old books? I think that’s the problem I’m having with at the moment. As a book reviewer, I want to post reviews that are relevant and new; not books that were published three years ago. But as a reader, I know that time is immaterial. Whether I read them tomorrow or a year from now, it doesn’t really matter. Because books are timeless. READING should not be constricted to an allotted time period, otherwise, it becomes a pesky homework and not…fun.
So now, I’m conflicted. The hermit philanthropist in me is thinking: I can always donate them to my library, or the charity shop where I buy my books. The hoarder in me is thinking: Are you crazy?! What if you’re missing something good? Something life-changing amongst the rubble of this neglected pile? The reader in me is thinking: shut up and start reading!
Such is the flow of my consciousness every time I’m confronted by my gigantic TBR.