Recently my reading habits have taken a very restless turn. I generally have a hard time putting the books down, but lately I’ve had a harder time picking them up. I’ve heard people can have reader’s block. Maybe that’s my issue.
After Fear Nothing (Koontz) and Maledicte (Robins), I picked up The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Zafón. And after a chapter or two of beautiful writing, I put it down. I just couldn’t manage to care about the misguided love life of a foolish boy. It was also, perhaps, a case of false advertising. I was told that the book was about, “a book dealer’s son who mourns the loss of his mother, finds solace in a mysterious book entitled, The Shadow of the Wind, by one Julián Carax. But when he sets out to find the author’s other works, he makes a shocking discovery; someone has been systematically destroying every copy of every book Carax has written.” The book is in there, but it takes an awfully long time to get to the mystery and, despite some admittedly beautiful writing, I got tired.
But perhaps I quit too soon. After all, any book that’s on the New York Times bestseller list probably deserves at least a second glance, if not a third. I think sometimes, especially in this era of instant gratification, we are too easily bored. We lack perseverance as readers. I nearly put Pride and Prejudice down too, and I’m so glad I didn’t. It was worth getting used to an older, more “tell” less “show” style. The same thing happened with Shelly’s Frankenstein and Their Eyes Were Watching God (Hurston). So, maybe I’ll try again later after I’ve had a nap and a dose of Dragon Tears (Koontz). I’ll let you know how it goes. Meanwhile, happy reading, and writing.