I've been struggling lately. And by "lately," I mean the past few years. I just cannot seem to finish most of the books that I start. I really enjoy the books that I start, but I wind up beginning to think about something else and I can't stop thinking about that "something else" until I start reading it, then I think of yet another book and I can't stop thinking about that "yet another book" until I start reading it, and so on. All through this time I buy whatever book I think about at the drop of a hat. I do not discern whether I truly want to read it or if it just sounds interesting, so I buy it. I really should wait before buying. On the few times that I have waited, I've generally been glad that I didn't go ahead and buy it because my interest ultimately waned. And this doesn't just apply to novels. I've done this with non-fiction, cook books, diet books. Basically, I've developed something of a compulsive book-buying habit. Not so bad that I constantly dip into savings in order to maintain my habit, but it's not helping with my "put a good half of my income into savings every month" goal either.
I wish I knew the cause of this problem.
Did it start when I began having disposable income my freshman year of college? I remember buying my first book on my Amazon account--French Women Don't Get Fat. I started reading it. Set it aside. Picked it back up my senior year of college and started the cleanse. The cleanse made me feel awful (still won't eat leeks because of that experience) and never picked it back up. I got rid of it through PBSwap. How many hundred of books have I bought in the six and a half years since then? How many thousands of dollars have I spent on books (forget movies, music, and clothes) since then? How many of them have I actually finished?
Did it start when I joined the online book community through such sites as Goodreads, Twitter, and Blogger my junior year of college? I'm not at all down on the book community. I love you guys. You are my people more so than a lot of people I know in real life. I can talk about my greatest passion with you and your eyes don't gloss over. Plus, you actually respond instead of making a series of grunts signifying that you heard what I said, even though you aren't listening to a bloody word. But, to be honest, through my own weakness, I wind up buying a lot of the books y'all mention! I do read the blurb about the book before I buy it, but often I buy it because Soandso really liked it and I really like them, therefore I would probably like it too. But once I buy it, how long does it sit on my shelf before even being cracked open, let alone finished?
Or is there some other reason behind all of this inability to finish anything?
Sometimes I step outside of myself and I see all of these unread books and it genuinely makes me sad and angry. I hate saying this, so I'll add the qualifier that while they stand unread on my shelves, they are a waste. But when I make some sweeping book-buying ban, that never lasts for long. When I make some grandiose plans to read 84,000 books this year, that never lasts for long. When I make plans with people to read a certain book or when I make plans with myself to read a certain book at a certain time, that never lasts for long. I hear the siren call of all the books that I am not reading, which makes me incapable of reading the book I am trying to read.
The past couple of weeks when I've felt like engaging in a bookish activity without actually reading (avoidance), I've been looking over an admired blogger's archives and I've been envious of all of the books they've read. And I know if I looked through other admired bloggers' archives, I'd be just as envious of them as well. While I definitely admire (lots of admiration going on, huh?) the knowledge and expanded worldview that they have gained from reading these books, even if they didn't like them, I also find myself being envious of the fact that they read these books to completion. Because I've started many of the same books that they've finished. At times, I wonder what is wrong with me that I haven't been able to finish these books. Because I want to read these books.
Maybe the problem is with my approach to books. Why do I read? Why do I want to read these books? What do I think about as I read? Why do I wind up abandoning these books mid-stream? (I wouldn't say that I DNF [though I did DNF Little Women]; that seems like a conscious decision; what I do is not really conscious because it just kind of happens) These are questions I need to ponder in my journal. Maybe that will help me figure it out.
It's almost like I lost the ability to believe in something. I can remember the love I felt towards reading. I think I still feel that way. But maybe I don't. Maybe I am very vividly remembering. Because you can't force it. There has to be something to pull you through. And I very rarely anymore find something to pull me through.
That devastates me. Reading was my thing. Reading the classics was something I wanted to do more than anything. I still want to do it, but maybe wanting isn't enough. Or do I want it for the wrong reasons?
I recall how I've read the books that I actually finished in the recent past--I wind up racing through them so fast, utterly devouring them because they are really good and devour-able-worthy, and when I finish I can't recall much about the book but that I loved it. So I buy The Well-Educated Mind, which has suggestions for how to truly soak in a book. One suggestion is to write summaries. I tried it. It slowed me down and became a chore, which defeats the purpose because I won't read if it seems like a chore. Since then, I've been making the effort to interact with my books by underlining and writing in the margins. It's helped me feel more involved, but it does not solve the problem of not finishing.
Basically, this whole not finishing the books that I WANT to be reading thing is really causing problems for me. It's kind of becoming an identity crisis. I don't want to read something fluffy. I don't want to read more nonfiction. I want to read a damn 19th century Gothic romance. I want to read something Modern and utterly confusing, but still completely amazing. I want to get some of those monkeys off of my back. I have several books that are just being obscene little monkeys on my back, leering at me for not having read them yet. I want to get back to lovingly finishing the books that I buy and being able to discuss them calmly and rationally with other people over a bottle or three of wine, making dirty jokes and irreverent comments when the moment strikes and making astute observations about the timelessness of the novel at the right time too. I want to get back to living out "art for art's sake" for real and not just because I think it's a valid dictate. It's not that I lack inspiration. I have inspiration out the wazoo. I lack follow-through.
I'm not sure what I'm looking for by sharing this. Maybe you can relate, maybe not. But I feel like I've lost sight of an important part of myself and I won't be truly myself until I get it back. And that is my biggest struggle right now.
I wish I knew the cause of this problem.
Did it start when I began having disposable income my freshman year of college? I remember buying my first book on my Amazon account--French Women Don't Get Fat. I started reading it. Set it aside. Picked it back up my senior year of college and started the cleanse. The cleanse made me feel awful (still won't eat leeks because of that experience) and never picked it back up. I got rid of it through PBSwap. How many hundred of books have I bought in the six and a half years since then? How many thousands of dollars have I spent on books (forget movies, music, and clothes) since then? How many of them have I actually finished?
Did it start when I joined the online book community through such sites as Goodreads, Twitter, and Blogger my junior year of college? I'm not at all down on the book community. I love you guys. You are my people more so than a lot of people I know in real life. I can talk about my greatest passion with you and your eyes don't gloss over. Plus, you actually respond instead of making a series of grunts signifying that you heard what I said, even though you aren't listening to a bloody word. But, to be honest, through my own weakness, I wind up buying a lot of the books y'all mention! I do read the blurb about the book before I buy it, but often I buy it because Soandso really liked it and I really like them, therefore I would probably like it too. But once I buy it, how long does it sit on my shelf before even being cracked open, let alone finished?
Or is there some other reason behind all of this inability to finish anything?
Sometimes I step outside of myself and I see all of these unread books and it genuinely makes me sad and angry. I hate saying this, so I'll add the qualifier that while they stand unread on my shelves, they are a waste. But when I make some sweeping book-buying ban, that never lasts for long. When I make some grandiose plans to read 84,000 books this year, that never lasts for long. When I make plans with people to read a certain book or when I make plans with myself to read a certain book at a certain time, that never lasts for long. I hear the siren call of all the books that I am not reading, which makes me incapable of reading the book I am trying to read.
The past couple of weeks when I've felt like engaging in a bookish activity without actually reading (avoidance), I've been looking over an admired blogger's archives and I've been envious of all of the books they've read. And I know if I looked through other admired bloggers' archives, I'd be just as envious of them as well. While I definitely admire (lots of admiration going on, huh?) the knowledge and expanded worldview that they have gained from reading these books, even if they didn't like them, I also find myself being envious of the fact that they read these books to completion. Because I've started many of the same books that they've finished. At times, I wonder what is wrong with me that I haven't been able to finish these books. Because I want to read these books.
Maybe the problem is with my approach to books. Why do I read? Why do I want to read these books? What do I think about as I read? Why do I wind up abandoning these books mid-stream? (I wouldn't say that I DNF [though I did DNF Little Women]; that seems like a conscious decision; what I do is not really conscious because it just kind of happens) These are questions I need to ponder in my journal. Maybe that will help me figure it out.
It's almost like I lost the ability to believe in something. I can remember the love I felt towards reading. I think I still feel that way. But maybe I don't. Maybe I am very vividly remembering. Because you can't force it. There has to be something to pull you through. And I very rarely anymore find something to pull me through.
That devastates me. Reading was my thing. Reading the classics was something I wanted to do more than anything. I still want to do it, but maybe wanting isn't enough. Or do I want it for the wrong reasons?
I recall how I've read the books that I actually finished in the recent past--I wind up racing through them so fast, utterly devouring them because they are really good and devour-able-worthy, and when I finish I can't recall much about the book but that I loved it. So I buy The Well-Educated Mind, which has suggestions for how to truly soak in a book. One suggestion is to write summaries. I tried it. It slowed me down and became a chore, which defeats the purpose because I won't read if it seems like a chore. Since then, I've been making the effort to interact with my books by underlining and writing in the margins. It's helped me feel more involved, but it does not solve the problem of not finishing.
Basically, this whole not finishing the books that I WANT to be reading thing is really causing problems for me. It's kind of becoming an identity crisis. I don't want to read something fluffy. I don't want to read more nonfiction. I want to read a damn 19th century Gothic romance. I want to read something Modern and utterly confusing, but still completely amazing. I want to get some of those monkeys off of my back. I have several books that are just being obscene little monkeys on my back, leering at me for not having read them yet. I want to get back to lovingly finishing the books that I buy and being able to discuss them calmly and rationally with other people over a bottle or three of wine, making dirty jokes and irreverent comments when the moment strikes and making astute observations about the timelessness of the novel at the right time too. I want to get back to living out "art for art's sake" for real and not just because I think it's a valid dictate. It's not that I lack inspiration. I have inspiration out the wazoo. I lack follow-through.
I'm not sure what I'm looking for by sharing this. Maybe you can relate, maybe not. But I feel like I've lost sight of an important part of myself and I won't be truly myself until I get it back. And that is my biggest struggle right now.
This is exactly like me, Lori. EXACTLY. See this post (including the link there to o's blog.)
ReplyDeleteI think this is just a love of reading, friend -- and probably a brain like mine that can handle several things at once and feels distracted doing one thing at a time.
I can tell you that forcing yourself to read one at a time strengthens the part of the brain that keeps fighting it -- like exercise. And unfortunately, I think Internet hopping may exacerbate the problem. (I) am already inclined to hop from topic to topic, so the Internet feeds that in me -- exercises it.
There's no proper way to love literature. Love it as you are, and if that means reading twenty books at a time and finishing nothing, do it. There is richness in that method: it lets you compare and contrast literature as you go.
I am aware I'm a very scattered reader and find I'm much happier simply conceding that it's who I am, than fighting it. I do try to find a balance by making a (very gentle) schedule for myself, which forces me to exercise my linear side, but in all honesty, I like myself this way, and it likely is due to my being artistic. Why compare myself to other folks and be a weak copy of them, when I could be a strong copy of myself. Is my philosophy.
Just relax, and enjoy the reading -- however long it takes. And read o's post! (Linked at the post on my blog I linked above.)
Sounds a lot like me in my years of battling depression. I accumulated an entire library of unread books, it was like the buying sprees were part of my 'highs' but I lacked the emotional energy to plow all the way through the books. And it made me sad (apart from the depression, which is different from sadness,) to see the books there and know how much I had loved them and what a disservice I was doing to them.
ReplyDeleteIs this the only thing going on?
I think you're absolutely right when you wonder if it's about disposable income and the book community. We have so much more exposure to books now than we did before Goodreads and blogging and hear about so many books we might never have known about before. That's both good and bad. If you had a very limited amount of money, you'd be very cautious about which of these books came into your home. But the shelves you already own, even without adding any new books, at least for me, really contribute to reading ADD.
ReplyDeleteI agree with what Lisa said above...about the whole disposable income and book community thing. Don't get me wrong, I love having a disposable income (who wouldn't), and I love the book community, but I often find it's overwhelming to constantly be over-exposed to ALL THE BOOKS. Before I discovered the online book community, my choice in which book to read seemed more straight forward - I either picked one off my un-read shelf (which was WAY smaller back then) or bought one that caught my eye at the bookstore. BUT, I also love learning and finding out about the books that I would probably never hear about otherwise. While I don't often have trouble finishing a book, it's starting my *next* book that I have trouble with - I can never seem sure of what I'm in the mood for (and I chalk this up to the large selection of books I have to read).
ReplyDeleteI can relate!
ReplyDeleteInternet is definitely distracting me from reading. I've always enjoyed reading several books at a time, but over the last years I seem to pick up at least twice or three times as many books than I actually finish.
When I was really stuck for a while what helped me was picking one of the unfinished books (where I was at least half way through) and just make me finish reading it. Didn't matter what else I read or if I actually felt like reading that one book (b/c that's one of my main problems, too, I always feel like I'm more in the mood of another book...) at that moment - I put aside exactly 20 minutes a day to read this one book.
I'm not saying that this excercise will make you a "better" reader (whatever that is), but finishing one book and then maybe another one after that in a reasonable amount of time (took me three weeks for two half-way books), just gives you the feeling of accomplishment. And that really made me read in a more relaxed way again.
All that said, I still like to read many, many books at the same time and don't see anything wrong with that. :)
I think many of us are feeling the same way. It seems to be the worst for me at the beginning of the new year. I'll get some time off work for the holidays and I'll try to finish up all those half completed projects before the end of the year. Then I feel sort of worn out and start a bunch of new ones looking for that really exciting and memorable one.
ReplyDeletehttp://severalfourmany.wordpress.com/2013/01/02/on-reading-part-i-why-i-dont-read-the-books-i-want-to-read/