Reading

I used to be a reader. My favorite book growing up was The Book Thief. I was obsessed with Harry Potter. I read each of the Twilight books in under 24 hours, and I loved The Mortal Instruments. I didn’t read things like The Hunchback of Notre Dame or Les Miserables or Nobokov or Chekhov or Fitzgerald. I was a kid. Those books were boring and long and I couldn’t get past the first few dense pages.

Now, I’m regretting that. Because my to-read list has just gotten longer and longer and longer over the years, I don’t know where to start.

I just spent a good two hours going through and choosing books to put on my to-read list. I have 70 now. They’re various things – The Price of Salt, To Kill a Mockingbird, Crush by Richard Siken, Jewish authors, psychologists, classics I should have read at school but didn’t. I read The Great Gatsby on my own time. I read The Master and Margarita at my parents’ insistence and now it’s my favorite book. My abnormal psychology teacher included in his syllabus a list called “Books on Selected Topics in Abnormal Psychology.”

One day, I may make it through to the last book, and then some. I don’t want modern YA fiction with simple plots and easy answers. I want LGBT fiction and biographies of interesting people and to get some insight on the field I’ve chosen, insight that goes beyond the textbook and classroom. I know so little of the world and history and literature, and I love those things. So it’s time to start reading.

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