Anyone who knows me is aware of my abiding love of books, of reading, of literature in all forms. I typically read anywhere from 50-100 books in a year, my peak in 2017 reached 117 books. The majority of these in years past have been of the paper variety, with a sizable chunk read on an e-reader, and a few audiobooks thrown in for good measure. This year is different.
It is the first week of August, and I have read 50 books so far. Not bad, right? But here’s the thing: 48 out of the 50 have been audiobooks. I am currently in the middle of two paper books, but am having trouble picking them up and persevering. One is a highly-praised, best-selling novel from 2023’s Best of… lists, and the other is a mystery set on an island off the coast of Ireland. They are decidedly different genres, so one should be able to appeal to me in any given mood. But no.
I love audiobooks, don’t get me wrong. I absolutely believe that they are reading, and will stand up and shout in protest against those who would denigrate them in any way. That said, my habit has always been to have an audiobook going for car/walk/chores situations, and a standard book going for when I am simply relaxing and reading.
It is the “relaxing and reading” bit that has me stymied at the moment. I believe my malady (because I feel it is appropriate to call it thus) came upon me sometime last year. As you may remember, I was in the throes of teacher contract negotiations, and they were not going smoothly. There was a lot of negativity coming at me: coworkers were critical, administration was uncommunicative, signals were crossed and uncrossed and crossed over again. I was hurt and tired and discouraged, and I had trouble focusing my brain on one task — particularly one that required attention and imagination at the same time as quieting itself. I started watching TV or videos on my phone, but that did not scratch my itch for rich, evocative storytelling.
I sit in my room, in the dark, next to my sleeping husband. I put my AirPods in my ears, open up a Solitaire app on my phone, and press play on my audiobook. My brain is multitasking to the point where no intrusive thoughts can enter, and I can be caught up in a story read to me by a voice actor.
I miss books. I miss wanting to read with my eyes. I miss being a voracious consumer of paper books. I miss walking out of the library with a stack of 8 books I know I’m going to get through during an incredibly open week of summer break. This is part of my identity, and it is missing.
I am beginning to worry that my book sabbatical has become a habit. I asked my Book Buddy Bryn about it, and she suggested I need a juicy, YA re-entry book. I think she might be right. I tried re-reading a favorite — a strategy I’ve used in previous occurrences of book fatigue — but it didn’t work. I need a story that I can’t bear to put down.
As you might be suspecting by now, this particular piece of writing comes with some homework for you: what book is going to revive me? Bring me back from book-death, my friends! Help me be Literature Lazarus: Out of the Flames!
Thanks for reading, even if I can’t.
Love, Susie
Ooh, ooh, that's me! I'm in print! Lol
Both The Echo Wife and The Last Language are relatively short, which always helps me get out of a reading slump.