I’m trying to read more books.
You may think that because I’m a writer I read lots of books and often, but if so, you are sorely wrong. I’ve never been much of a reader. I’m more of a TV-watching type gal. Still, over the years, I’ve maintained a healthy curiosity about books. Obviously not enough to make me become a voracious reader, but enough that I have four library cards, and check books out regularly, even if I don’t always read them.
Ironically, my appetite for books is partially due – in no small order – to all that TV-watching I’ve done. TV introduced me to things like Oprah’s Book Club, and this book show that used to come on PBS hosted by a lady named Pat Morrison. It was through her that I discovered Lemony Snickett and his “A Series of Unfortunate Event.” Those shows made the books they showcased seem so interesting and thought-provoking that I wanted to see if the same reaction could be elicited from me.
I must admit, when I was younger, the one place where reading trumped the movies or TV was my imagination. You can’t see anything quite like you can see it with your mind’s eye. Especially when it comes to fairytale and fantasy stuff – nothing is as good as my imagination. The pictures in my head are the most elaborate…well, at least they used to be.
When I was a kid, my imagination would kick into such high gear that it would overtake the words on the page. I remember one time I was lying in bed reading, marveling at how I was looking at words, but seeing this vivid picture in my head of a girl in the forest. I don’t even remember what book I was reading, but it was just shocking to me how my imagination and those words on the page intermingled.
As magical as that experience may have been, as a child raised on TV, spending weeks reading a book just couldn’t take the place of a two hour movie, or a 30 minute sitcom, or as I got older, an all-day MTV Real World marathon. The quickness, the immediacy of television, that instant gratification made books no match.
Once I got to college and was assigned more books to read – both fiction and nonfiction, textbooks and otherwise (most of which, I didn’t read) – in a year than I’d probably read in my entire life, not only did I find that my reading skills were pretty poor, but I also felt left out. I couldn’t fully participate in classroom discussions even if I wanted to. And too, a lot of the people I thought were smart and interesting read a lot of books. I went to one classmate’s house and saw that she had a whole bookshelf of books that she said she’d read. Like an entire bookshelf with several shelves full of books. That was mind-blowing to me. Then there were other times when people would make references to books or authors that are pretty common amongst educated people, and I’d be clueless. This, by the way, is one of the primary reasons I think people should go to college – so that you can have conversations with people in many different circles.
After college I didn’t get a job right away, and found myself in this sort of waste land of nothing to do and what’s my next move. It was during that time, when it was no longer required of me, that I began reading books on my own. I even kept a lot of my text books and read some of them. It was like after the fast pace of college, my mind couldn’t take this new lull.
That’s also when I discovered that the experience I had as a child where my imagination seemed to supersede the words on the page had gone. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t help but notice every word on the page so vividly, while struggling to see the scene in my mind’s eye. I realized that not reading had not only rendered me a mute during certain conversations, but it had also stifled my imagination.
In any case, it didn’t really matter much, because I was reading less and less fiction, and more and more non-fiction anyway. I usually use my creative imagination more when I’m reading fiction and the author is describing something for which I have no reference, or haven’t seen on a regular basis. Most of the non-ficiton I read is written by or about people I admire, and I’ve already seen enough about them on TV to have stock images in my mind of whatever they are talking about in their book. For example, when I was reading Barbara Walter’s autobiography Audition, and she talked about being in a newsroom, my imagination didn’t have to work too hard to conjure up an image of a newsroom because I’ve seen so many on TV. That and I read non-fiction for other reasons: I’m not so much interested in seeing what they have to say as I am knowing what they have to say, if that makes any sense.
To be quite honest, I’m not impressed with most fiction work anyway. The fiction that I’ve liked best has been the short stories I read in high school, or some of the classic works. But I’m usually super disappointed in contemporary fiction – from the themes that modern authors choose to write about, to their writing style even – it just doesn’t appeal to me. I think the latest work of fiction that I really enjoyed was Waiting to Exhale, though it’s several decades old, and I actually first read it a couple decades ago. The most recent contemporary fiction I read was The Wedding Date by Jasmine Guillory, which I thought was cute, and I mostly enjoyed, but it’s a really light read. I also read Behold the Dreamer, which I thought was depressing as hell, and did not like at all. Then there’s Yaa Gyassi’s Homecoming, which got rave reviews, but I was disappointed by, particularly because I thought she failed to capture the essence of hopefulness and blessed assurance that I’ve experienced permeating in Black American communities. Then there’s An American Marriage, which I thought was trying to do too much, not to mention it was a sad read.
Suffice it to say, when it comes to fiction, I’m a picky reader. The next one I’m going to get my hands on will be the work by Bill Clinton and James Patterson. There is also a novel by CNN’s Jake Tapper that I’d like to read. I have this idea for a political thriller screenplay, and have recently gained interest in mystery novels.
But perhaps the real problem is that some of these memoirs that people are writing are so good, fiction, for me, has taken a back seat. I think the fact that I know memoirs are true (or at least supposed to be true), makes it more intriguing for me. Some of my favorite non-fiction has been about or by women in the working world, like #GirlBoss by Sophie Amoruso. I really liked Megyn Kelly’s Settle for More. And I was surprised at how much I liked Tyra Banks’s book that she did with her mom called Perfect is Boring. I just finished reading Elisabeth Hasslebeck’s book Point of View, which turns out, I didn’t enjoy half as much as I thought I would, which surprised me because I really enjoyed Sarah Palin’s Going Rogue. I’m also reading The Most Powerful Woman in the Room is You, by Lydia Fenet, which I’m actually quite liking and it’s a very easy read. On deck I have Michelle Obama’s Becoming. I actually began reading it, and I just love it so much – not only because of the stories she tells and the way she tells them, but the writing is so scrumptious. This is one that I’m going to actually buy and not just check out at the library.
Currently, I’m trying to read two books a month. And look at that, as I’m writing this, I’m four days away from a new month… and I’m still on the current month’s books…No wait, these books are actually from a couple months back (insert appropriate emoji here).
Wonder what I’ll be reading next?
Fun Facts:
At 657 pages, the longest book I’ve ever read was Emperor of Ocean Park by Stephen L. Carter. I found out about this book because it was a Today show book club selection, just another example of how TV influenced my reading. And unlike old movies I’ve seen, I don’t have the foggiest idea what this book is about, other than it’s a murder mystery.
The shortest book I read was…I don’t know. I would probably say The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemmingway, but that book was so boring I never got through all of its 80-something pages, or however long it is.
Happy Reading!
Leave a Reply