Let It Go
Over the years I have adopted the habit of reading the Booker prize short-list. As a consequence I often find myself immersed in a tremendous book.
Long reservation times at the library mean that I am still waiting for some of the novels that were so accoladed this year to become available. To date, however, I can only express my disappointment, especially as the last specimen took me 3 weeks of hard graft and dedication to complete. I confess, tholokuti (is that enough to tell you which book it was?), I could easily have been persuaded to cease reading it altogether except, without skipping to the final page and despite it being an allegory and political satire where I surely knew the ending, I did want confirmation of what happened next. I was inevitably disappointed by my chore of endurance.
In fact, I almost convinced myself that I had just forgotten how to enjoy a book when my usual pattern is to become so absorbed that I complete any novel within 2 to 3 sessions and then have a break before beginning another.
I am pleased to report, however, that the lapse was momentary and clearly attributable to the subject matter or writing style because, as soon as I shut the book for the last time, I opened Pat Barker's The Silence of the Girls. This time, I could not put it down (a good job I was on an aeroplane flight). I went straight from reading that to its sequel, The Women of Troy, finishing both books within 48 hours and for the 24 after feeling a little bereft as I missed my grim dose of warring Greeks with their bloodstained finger nail-beds and the captive Trojan women in their rape camps. Barker's novels although fictional reworkings of the Illiad bring history to life, so that you feel with as well as for the characters.
Reading has to be a pleasure, not a chore; an opportunity for escapism as well as a means to identify with and experience the pain and delight of the protagonists. I did not enjoy devoting time to a book that failed to deliver on those expectations. However, I have again learnt a valuable lesson about my time in retirement, namely that it is too precious to spend on something from which I am deriving no obvious satisfaction or purpose. A little like Marie Kondo's book on decluttering that I explored a few weeks ago: if it fails to spark joy, let it go.
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