READING PARALYSIS

It is 11.37pm at night, a time when I usually am happily ensconced in bed with a good book, and instead I am starting a blog entry, fuelled by guilt at not having written one in some time and using the same late-night inspiration that got me through school and university (just). My guilt would be overridden easily by my interest in the plot of a good book, but lately I find myself unable to pinpoint exactly what type of book I want to read next.



This happens at the same time as feeling overwhelmed by the frighteningly rapid changes hurtling towards the publishing industry that I have dutifully bookmarked on my delicious account, for closer inspection at a more convenient time, at which point I should distill from them the next topic on which to blog on BookFuzz. So many bookmarks, so little time, and I have books I am supposed to be reading!

Then I happen upon a fantastic article in the LA Times by David Ulin on The Lost Art of Reading. It mirrored in many ways the exact frustrations I am currently feeling, summed up in the intro paragraph: The relentless cacophony that is life in the 21st century can make settling in with a book difficult even for lifelong readers and those who are paid to do it.

(relentless cacophony = aforementioned changes and the mountain of articles, blogs etc about it; and I am indeed a lifelong reader, and paid to do it, and having difficulty with it at the moment)

Sometimes, between good books, I've found it hard to decide on the next one. Sometimes the book I just read lingers so long that reading anything again seems like a let-down. One of these lapses lasted 6 months or more, which was an eternity for me and one I swore never to repeat. Since then, every year I make the resolution to read a minimum 26 books (one per fortnight), and most years I beat that, and when I don't I get close enough to be satisfied).

I have a pile of exceptional books ready to be read, and none of them can hold my attention and I worry that I've lost the passion for it. Except I know in my heart that is not true! I think Mr Ulin hits the nail on the head when he laments, "I am too susceptible, it turns out, to the tumult of the culture, the sound and fury signifying nothing."

"I pick up a book and read a paragraph; then my mind wanders and I check my e-mail, drift onto the Internet, pace the house before returning to the page. Or I want to do these things but don't. I force myself to remain still, to follow whatever I'm reading until the inevitable moment I give myself over to the flow."

Check out his article, you may relate to it too. After reading it, I am resolved to re-focus on reading in bed. Perhaps my bedroom must become a laptop-free-zone to achieve it, or an internet curfew? Whatever it takes.