What we often forget when reading…

I have been reading a lot. I have picked up various genres and authors in the previous few months and have moderately enjoyed all those experiences. But I never completed any of those books. The list is kind of long, it includes the House of mirth by Edith Wharton, Maine by J.C.Sullivan and many more. If you ask me, why I never finished them, I wouldn’t have a single reason to tell you why, nor am I in a reading slump (I have finished multiple other books in the that time frame). Then, why was I unable to finish any of these books?

It was the other day when I was reading the book, The Solitary Summer by Elizabeth von Arnim, that I came to find the answer. In the book, her character mentions how she picks up different authors off her shelf depending on what she is feeling or where she is seated in her house. She talks about leaving a book when its purpose has been served, and starting off a book right in the middle when she feels like it. That’s when it hit me. That is what I had been doing for the past few months. I was picking up books that I wanted to read in that moment and was even making progress, but for no reason at all would leave them once they didn’t appeal to me anymore.

This got me thinking, why didn’t I do this more? Why did I feel compelled to ‘finish’ books just so I can claim that yes, I read? In this online culture of constantly counting what you are reading, how much you are reading and where you are reading it, we have forgotten the very thing reading is not; a competition. I don’t think I should have to complete every single book to say I enjoyed it or didn’t. I don’t think you have to finish every book and mark it as read on your goodreads shelf to say that you read a book. Who is keeping score of how many books you read to completion anyway? We have to stop putting so much pressure on ourselves as a community and as humans. We have to make sure that the platforms that bring us together, don’t make us lose sight of why we are there in the first place. If a certain book appeals to you at a certain point and time, I encourage you to pick it up and enjoy it to the maximum. When it stops giving you pleasure, you can walk away, it’s okay to walk away. No one is keeping score.

Long disappearances

I have been gone a while. The reason for it is quite simple, in my head that is. As one with a billion thoughts, I began focusing too much on what my words meant to others, and if they were even being read and acknowledged. What I lost sight of in the process was that, my words meant something to me. This blog didn't start as an attempt to get people to hear me, it was just me writing some thoughts about how the reading life treats me, and I treat it for that matter. That is why I have returned. That is why I hope to write more frequently. Because, even if your words mean something to one person, they are worth it. And they mean something to me. And that is enough.

On not being able to read as much.

This year, as I celebrated the end of another year gone by, my heart felt a little heavy. Heavy, at the thought that I didn't even make it halfway through my reading challenge on goodreads. The challenge number on goodreads is more than just a number in my life, its an obsession. Its what guides my reading choices, and pushes me forward. All that talk about not putting so much pressure on reading? Well, it applies everywhere, except this particular aspect.

So why was the number so low? I have no particular reason. I have excuses, and they are no different than anyone else's pre-occupations in life. I am not especially entitled with a busy life. I am entitled with specially bad time management skills though. I have been distracted, wasted my time and put reading on the back of my mind. I bought and bought books without carving out any time to read them.

Why do I write this self-deprecating post you may ask? Because, this year I plan on changing that. I plan on using my phone less, and reading more. I plan on trying new genres, taking more recommendations and having patience to see the end of books through. I plan on reading in whatever time i find, rather than waiting for 3 hours to magically fall in my lap. I plan on doing better on something that is of incredible significance to me. And, I write this here to hold myself accountable. And to the two people who might read this post, if you did not read as much this year, and it makes you feel some kind of way, its never too late to get back to it.

Happy new year! May all the books you read this year make it to your favorite list, and confuse the hell out of you when you try and choose.

Books - Ft. Marriage

For a while now, I have been a frequent indulger of the romance genre. I am a sucker for a good tale of pursuit of love. I light some candles, put on some music and read into the night. It is my favorite way to spend time. But, for the past four years, ever since I got married that is, I have been noticing something lacking from this genre. And that is the depiction of what happens after the happily ever after. While I totally understand that, that is not an aspect that they are obliged to show me, after having read so many of them, I was a little disappointed that being married in real life was nothing like that at all. In fact, at most times even the pursuit of your beloved is more practical than romantic.

Being a person that needs to find books for the situation of life she is in, or it is not really happening, I got to searching. And here are some books that helped me find books about or that featured marriage in a realistic way.

Fates and Furies by Lauren Groff – The year this book came out it was everywhere on social media. What sealed the deal for me however was the fact that Obama named it as his favorite book of the year. I was sold. I listened to it on audio and loved it. It wasn’t the plot or the characters that I particularly loved, but the ridiculously real portrayal of what it’s like to be married. The secrets one often buries because they really are better off, the degree of co-dependency that persists without the involved people even realizing it, and the little delusions we put ourselves through to get by.

Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnim – This was another favorite. Not just because it was set in a medieval castle in Italy (it was certainly a huge factor) but because of its depiction of how marital relations can often fizzle out against the back drop of life’s practicalities. I also loved the connotation that such a situation could be fixed by a trip to Italy. Not to invalidate the seriousness of the problem, but that little gestures can fix very huge problems. I highly recommend making your significant other read it.

Big Little Lies by Liane Moriarty – This was one of my favorite reads this year, and I think I recommended it to everyone I met. On the outside it looks like the fluffiest book there can be. On the inside it is the diametric opposite. It deals with the issues and ideas that people go through with changing stages in their relationship, and how it changes the amount of lies we tell ourselves to keep a marriage going. It perfectly captures the idea of security that marriage provides that often makes us blind to the emerging cracks, all set at a pace that leaves you breathless.

Embracing Sucking at Something

For the past three months, I have been trying to participate in read-a-thons. You can even scroll down my blog and read through my two attempts that I managed to document.

So when the Bout of Books 17.0 finally finished this weekend, I did a little soul searching, to get to the bottom of my heathen habits.

Here are the list of reasons I came up with for sucking at read-a-thons;

1) I suck at keeping commitments I am not bound to keep.
This sounds bad, and it is. But usually, if there is not this insane amount of pressure on me to get something done, I will probably not do it. Same goes for read-a-thons. On most days, I don't feel like sitting hours and hours reading books, and when it is due to failure of commitment, the feeling of accomplishment that follows, is not a strong enough cue.

2) I get distracted easily.
I have a million hobbies. A million chores that need to be done daily. A million people I need to give time to before I can pick up a book. All these things are on most days, exhausting. And when push comes to shove and I have time to pick up a book, that pesky remote eyes me and I end up watching Netflix instead.

3) I like my bookish plans to be spontaneous.
I love making lists. I love making plans. And read-a-thons combine all that into one. But I think, my reading and my books are one thing I do not like planned. I like the fact that I pick up a book at random times of the day or on some days not at all. I like my varying patterns of reading 100 pages in one sitting, and somedays barely making through 5. This I think is the strongest reason why I do not do read-a-thons well.
When everything in life needs to be done at a certain time and by a certain time, its nice to know that there is something you can do as you please, when you please.

On Detaching Yourself

How does one detach themselves from a piece of fiction that they are reading? Does it even make sense to do that?

I am currently reading Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi, and while that book is beautifully written, it is intense. Blunt and glaring descriptions of slavery and violence, often times this book is hard to digest. But as I am reading it, I can feel that it is something important. That I should not shy away from it because this is not just fiction based in non-reality, but actual reality for people who were living at that time. I should not shy away from understanding what they went through, if only to appreciate how far along we have come as humans and how far along we still have to go.

So I am wondering now, should I even try to detach myself from the characters, or open myself to an experience like never before? Just raw and real emotions which will quite possible make me a changed person. For now, I am just going with the flow and dropping the book whenever it gets too intense, and reading something else. I highly recommend it to everyone though. It’s a work of art, and if it makes you check your privilege, then that is just an introspective experience you cannot miss.

D is for Diverse

I have been an immigrant since the day I was born. When I was born my parents had already immigrated to UAE from Pakistan and when I got married I moved to USA. So, the concepts of nationhood and a place to call my own have usually revolved around the locations of my loved ones.
But when I entered into the world of books I realized that feelings of isolation in different cultures, the need to belong were real feelings which people around me were constantly aware of. That is the first time I decided to diversify my reading and read more authors belonging to similar cultures as that of mine. Maybe the feelings I was not feeling was maybe because I could not tap into them. That was the first time I read Jhumpa Lahiri's Unaccustomed Earth and Arundathi Roy's God of Small Things.

Ever since then I have tried to read authors of different cultures, non-white to make it simple. Authors like Celeste Ng, Ruth Ozeki, Chimondi...in order to grasp the void that everyone was feeling once they left their countries, their lands. I felt left out because somehow something in me was missing and I did not feel the need to find my own people, or to belong, I had been an alien ever since I was born and I was perfectly comfortable in it.

When I moved to the US, my reading preferences changed once again. Somehow unconsciously, the number of books on my shelves started to be by all white authors; male and female. The diversification that had been taking place in my reading before somehow was disappearing. I was avoiding authors that were non-white for the sheer reason that they could not communicate in English as well as the authors whose mother tongue was English (Despicable, I know).

Another reason why I often stayed away from such books was because I always felt that these books had exploitative depressing undertones. I had rarely read a book that was light or described a happy experience and that in my head was a good enough reason to not read them. But in my adventures as an adult  i have realized that you have got to take the sad with the glad. Over the past week  articles about the importance of reading diversely have surfaced, and I have made a decision once again. I removed all the books by non-white authors on my shelves and put them in front of me in my home office.

Over the remaining months my reading choices are going to involve authors that are not white. Do not get me wrong, I am not saying that these authors should be given preference over white authors, who so clearly are brilliant at what they do as well and earn their fame and name. It is just that I as an individual want to give other authors a chance too. When I have a conversation with someone about books I don't just want to give them names of authors like Stephen King, Grisham, Austen, Wharton (All of who are absolutely brilliant, btw), but I would like to name authors from all over the world. You know, 'Celeste Ng? She wrote a brilliant book about inter-racial marriage and coming to terms with being an immigrant in a foreign land.' You know Ruth Ozeki? She wrote a great book about how you may leave your homeland, once you come back it is never quite the same as you thought it would be. These are the kinds of conversations I want to be having. I want to be more empathetic
as I grow. I want to stop and understand where someone is coming from rather than label them or blame their ethnicity for it. I want to be a better person, and I think books are the best way to help me do it.