And On That Note is a sporadic discussion feature where I muse on pressing bookish and non bookish topics.
Confession: Some days, I dread opening a book. Despite the fact that I’ve been dying to read it, more often than not in the past two years books have been forgotten, staying firmly put on shelves or desk or in my handbag when I catch the bus to work (which is my designated reading time). I want to read, but I can’t.
Is it that I’ve fallen out of love with reading? Oh God no. Can you ever, really? Literature has been ingrained into pretty much every aspect of my life since I was young, and it’s my future as well, so I don’t think I’ll ever fall out of love with reading.
But I have fallen out of love with books. I’ve fallen out of love with favourite genres and authors who are problematic. I’ve fallen out of love the constant pressure behind blogging when personal life took over, when the summers became too hot and my body decided it didn’t like me any more. Something that once provided a comfort became a chore, and I fell deeply into the deep dark cavern of the Reader’s Slump.
In saying that, as often as I fall out of love with books, I fall back in love so easily. My reading range has matured as I’ve gotten older – I’m reading more nonfiction, I’ve discovered the easy joy of women’s fiction and my newest guilty pleasure is historical romances.
Every single time though, I keep coming back to Young Adult. Sure, I’ve outgrown a lot of the books I read when I first really begun reading YA, and my tastes have shifted to more mature YA protagonists, but for each cycle of the cursed reading slump that I go through, there’s always one book that brings me back, and there’s always the thought that there are people out there, even at my age, that enjoy those books as much as I do.
Do reading slumps affect how you perceive books? Have you ever fallen out of reading a particular genre at all, or is there always one book that brings you home again?