I thought about titling this post “the huge and growing mountain of books I still haven’t read, despite writing about this before, and despite still not doing anything about it” - but it’s a bit long for a title. There’s basically three main problems going on - I’m not making time to read, people keep writing fantastic sounding new books, and I keep discovering fantastic sounding old books. I am officially my own worst enemy.
On the bookshelf behind me in the study there is a growing shelf of paperbacks - some of which have been there for a number of years - since I used to commute into London every day. I would read while squashed into the corner of main line trains, and continue reading while hanging from the rails of underground trains - squashed between other commuters. Nothing stopped me reading. The unread titles are a “who’s who” of sorts…
Generation X, by Douglas Coupland Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley We, by Yevgeny Zamyatin Stranger in a Strange Land, by Robert Heinlein Snow Crash, by Neil Stephenson A Modern Utopia, by H G Wells
This years Christmas books added to the queue…
The Hundred Year Old Man, by Jonas Jonasson Periodic Tales, by Hugh Aldersey-Williams
And then there’s the book I picked up while queueing to buy Christmas presents…
The Perks of Being a Wallflower, by Stephen Chbosky
These are just the paper books… on the Kindle there are more. I seriously need to force myself to drop everything else, and just make time to read on an evening - no TV - no video games - no internet. Just read. The stupid thing is - I love books, and I love reading. I always have. I don’t read very quickly, but I read “properly” (if that makes any sense) - I read every word, and take it all in.