The Mister gives me a book he picked up for me. I read the title, turn it around and read the back. Not much information but no "this is the best book in the world" comments either. I smile to myself and quietly approve. Praise for a book, printed on its own cover, always reminds me of the taste description on wine bottles: fancy words, not much meaning.
Finally, I open the cover, leaf through the first few pages and then start at the beginning. I savour the first few pages. Reading about a new character is a little like getting to know a new friend: full of promise but a dangerous business. After all, they might turn out to be really odd. I find myself drifting off so I jump back a paragraph and read it again. The story starts fast and then slows down. The main character is confused but for the reader, the situation is much more obvious. I read on.
A few pages in, the story is finally picking up. A hint of a scandal emerges, apparently loose threads begin to tangle. I read a little faster, getting absorbed into the plot. The main character stumbles through her story and I feel for her. More problems turn up and I begin to long for the happy end. For her. I read faster.
It's two hours since I started and I have reached page 172. During the slower parts of the story, I'm only reading every second or third word. I know what is happening but the feel of the story flies past me. I turn another page, skip over the chapter heading and plunge right in. And then I stop. I'm not enjoying myself any more, too many of the details are gone. It is tempting to read on, how can I sleep without knowing the end?
I read the heading of the chapter, place a postcard with a sheep on it as a bookmark and set the book aside. A few months ago, I would have continued now but I promised myself to slow down and savour what the books has to offer me. After turning it over in my hands a few times, I set it aside with a heavy heart. "I will come back to you tomorrow" I tell it quietly and then wander off to brush my teeth. When I climb into bed later, I longingly gaze at the book for a moment. Then I turn around, snuggling deeper into my duvet. Tomorrow.
What a wonderful post, I find it unbelievably hard to set books aside and go to bed or do something else, I alsways want to know how it ends. As a child I used to read the first few pages and then the last for that very reason.
ReplyDeleteoh i can totally understand that, i used to do the same, after a very long and hard fight over who gets to read the book first... usually i lost to zelde ;)
DeleteI try very hard to resist reading the last page because I find that I then never go back to the middle... Bad habit really.
Delete@Nuyiba Oy, we had rules. If you paid for the book/got it as a present you always got to read it first :D
DeleteSure but you fought anyway :-) And usually the youngest lost....
DeleteThis is a beautifully written post, and I can totally relate :)
ReplyDeleteThank you. I love reading but I try not to do it so often because it is so hard to stop.
DeleteYou're such a great writer. I felt like it was me reading that book ... But alas it could not have been, as I would have fallen asleep after the first few pages. Not because I didn't enjoy the story, but because this what always happens to me. Hence the reason it takes me ages to finish a book. But I do so love to read them!
ReplyDeleteLoulou
I have the opposite problem. I tried using reading to make me sleepby but i just get so absorbed, I read all night... Even if it is really boring.
DeleteEin Schöner Blog
ReplyDeleteDanke :)
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