Fresh, Hot Wastes of Time

The problem with finding a good book is that, when it’s over, I go through a sort of grieving process. For the characters and the story. I miss them and wonder how they’re doing. And I want to have another experience like that again, where I get so incredibly involved in someone else’s world for a while, but the prospect of kissing frogs while searching for a prince is just so daunting that I have grown ever more hesitant to pick up another book. So the more books I’ve read that I love, contrarily, the less likely I am to take a chance on another book. An overall trend, perhaps, of wanting to stay comfortable in my own little zone?

What’s got me all angsty, you might wonder? I just finished The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield and even though I knew I was hastening it towards its end, I couldn’t put it down. Instead of getting out of bed this morning and brushing my teeth, I picked up my book and carried on from where I left off last night when I fell asleep reading. For a girl who grew up reading and re-reading Jane Eyre, it was absolutely wonderful.

But.

To get there, my previous two books were The Road by Cormac McCarthy (supposed to be incredibly powerful and moving; I found it pointless) and Within the Shadows by Brandon Massey (puerile).

I feel like my time is too valuable to waste on crappy books, but who am I punishing by going on strike? I need a royal book tester, is what I need. I had high hopes for Goodreads.com, but their search engines are really… sub par. Every “Best Of” list has at least one Twilight book on it. Honestly, guys? And I dunno, my tastes run maybe not 90 degrees, but some discernible difference from the pack. The Historian only has 3.5 stars on Amazon, but I think it’s the best thing I’ve read in years.

Sigh. I dunno. I’m gonna try some Agatha Christie next, I think.

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