So Monday was #Nationalbookloversday and it was all over twitter so it must be legit. I’m not reading anything right now but I am a book lover, not a fighter. I don’t fight with books, I let them take me, clothing optional.
I’ve read loads of books, obviously, since I’m mid-30s, maybe on the cusp of mid-late, but there are a few that stick out in my mind. Many of them are more recent reads as I’m apparently losing my mind but that doesn’t make them any less awesome:
so many books, so little time
Night Film by Marisha Pessl was riveting. So excited about reading Special Topics in Calamity Physics next!
The Stand by the grand Master Stephen King. I’ve read it about ten times and was thinking the other day that I need to get into it again, but it’s in poor condition and I don’t actually know where it is, sad emoji. Also most of the other SK books, especially The Dead Zone, which I always get mixed up with The Dark Half.
LOTR are wonderful, but I couldn’t get into The Hobbit and I probably wouldn’t read them again unless I was stranded somewhere.
The Time-Traveller’s Wife.
Most Jane Austen novels, obvs. And Brontes.
The Mayfair Witches series by Anne Rice.
A Discovery Of Witches and etc by Deborah Harkness loved loved loved.
On the other hand, I feel like I’m cheating on a book if I don’t finish it, and honestly there must be less than five books that I’ve put away unfinished. I’ve finished more books that I thought were rubbish than books I’ve stopped reading. Not finishing a book is like not putting the shopping trolley away properly, or a bunch of other bullshit things I do that are just the right thing to do that neither Husband nor I can think of right now, even though he can get so pissy because I’m doing them.
I’ve really enjoyed reading everything recently. That probably means I’m no critic but it also means I’m an optimist, or naive as shit. Whatevs.
Enjoy reading bitches.