With some books, my attention is caught immediately and completely. For whatever reason, I find myself so captivated by the topic or the richness of the prose that it’s hard to stay way: perhaps the book speaks to me or something in life in a way I didn’t expect? The Trial by Kafka was this way for me (a sublimely-bleak look at human alienation and impotence in conditions of modernity) and 2666 by Roberto Bolano (a massive tome on Mexico, triangles and an escaped Nazi), and Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace (which I loved in all its anxious, convoluted and verbose wonder…and considered rereading).
But just as often, I find myself going from desultorily gliding book to book, reading a few simultaneously (one a work of fiction, another of philosophy, another of history or political economy). There is so much to know in the world, so much that strikes one’s curiosity, piques one’s interests. So hard to settle on just one. But I guess this is a microcosm of a challenge of our existence: how to make any choice.
I try to finish the books I read, but also, if I’m not enjoying it: what’s the point? An old Philosophy professor, who looked like a mix between Jerry Garcia and Santa Claus (and loved the Grateful Dead) and who always wore shorts no matter the weather once told me: there are an infinite amount of books, and a finite amount of time. Read the ones you enjoy, and unless you’re a professor, you don’t have to finish them all.
I think that was good advice. Still, I like to finish books, especially tough ones, and typically do: I guess that says a lot about me…
Also a link to libraries if you’re interested…
Bearer of Pity 