I love to read. I’ve been reading on my own since age 4. Although, there is a video of a 2 year old me “reading” my favorite story, George’s Store. That was merely an adorable display of memorization— a 1980s version of “Your Baby Can Read,” if you will.
I’ve been to some book clubs, and my God, it makes me want to put down the books and pick up a drug habit. Why are they so awful? Being forced to read chick-lit is bad enough. When you add in a group of hens clucking about how deep and meaningful “Bergdorf Blondes" is, it just further rubs salt in the wound. I dared to disagree that chick lit novels are just stories that we read to escape to a world where you have the perfect everything. Whenever it was my turn to suggest a book to read, I often got a plethora of eye-rolls or was met with resistance.
"But that’s like over 500 pages!"
"This was written in the 1800s!"
"There’s a big word in the title, how am I supposed to read this?”
God forbid for one month out of the year I want to read and discuss something that isn’t Sex and the City in book form or a shitty Nicholas Sparks novel that is being made into an even shittier movie. I don’t like being shunned for calling Eat, Pray, Love "Narcissism for Dummies" or having to conceal my absolute white-hot hatred for the Twilight series. I’m sorry if I want to read about characters that have a multi-layered personality and aren’t vapid, carbon-copies of Carrie Bradshaw.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve watched Sex and the City. I’ve read some crap novels. But I take these things at face value. I realize that the characters’ lives are very unrealistic. I understand that the story that is being presented isn’t very deep. I think the clothes are pretty. I know it’s a fantasy. I sometimes read/watch this crap between reading/watching really interesting novels and documentaries. We all have our vices, but thinking chit* lit is worthy of a book club discussion is not one of mine.
This is why I’m starting my own book club. A book club where the books are decent at worst. A book club where no inane rambling about “finding oneself” will occur. A book club where sharing one’s thoughts and feelings isn’t required. A book club for one.
How will it work? It won’t. That’s the beauty of it.
Ok, so I’ll pick a book to read on the first of every month. Then during the month, feel free to read it. Or don’t. On the first of the following month, I’ll post the title of the next book and any thoughts on the book from the previous month. Feel free to share your thoughts. Feel free to ignore it. Be free from being forced to listen to a friend of a friend dither on about how Sophie Kinsella novels really speak to her.