It’s occurred to me that I haven’t really enjoyed a book I have finished to the point of almost loving it since January. There was a writer’s block prompt which read: “What was the last great book you read?” My response would have to be Runemarks. Everything since that time has been average or just not fulfilling as much potential as it could be. So often I find myself going like this:
There are some books I have sitting on my shelf that I am looking forward to reading, yet I am waiting before indulging in those titles because several will involve rereading the first books so that my unreliable memory is refreshed and I can judge a book fairly if it is continuing a story. So I turn to stand alone books and library check-outs. Although I suppose my ulterior motive for deciding if there are any books I can clear out that I probably won’t want after all may play no small part in the choice for recent reading material. I guess I have no one to blame but myself for setting lofty goals of wishing to chisel out most of my TBR pile during 2012.
Still I want to really feel a great attachment to the books I read again. I want to care for the characters, I want to lose myself in the story, I want to wrap my tongue around the language, and I want to hold it tight and swear to never let it go. In short I want to react something like this when I am reading:
I am left wondering which of those titles sitting quietly on the shelf will be the ones to accomplish this for me. Will it be Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell? Mother of the Believers? The Diary of a Young Girl? The Tokaido Road? Watership Down? Till We Have Faces? This bookworm will keep calm and
think of Disney Prince Loki read on.