Ten Book-Related Problems I Have

  1. An obsessive TBR habit. I don’t mood-read. My everyday life is, I suspect like many people’s, deliberately constructed so I have to make as few decisions as humanly possible (because decisions are exhausting). Calling me a creature of habit would be an understatement. So, I have to read my physical TBR in a certain way: library books take priority because they have to be returned in three weeks; books I borrow from other people go next; and, finally, books I’ve bought or have been given go next, with new books added to the top of the pile. And I always read from the top of the pile. All this means that the books at the bottom of the pile can be there for years. I DIDN’T SAY IT MADE SENSE.
  2. My local library has virtually no SFF by POCs. For example: they have Adam Roberts’ latest book, The Real-Town Murders, which was published last year, in hardback. But they don’t have N.K. Jemisin’s Hugo award-winning, Nebula-nominated The Fifth Season, which was published way back in 2015. Roberts is an excellent author, but The Fifth Season is a big deal in genre circles right now. Why doesn’t my (large) local library have it?
  3. Not enough book space. My mother is currently on a campaign to get me to give away some of the children’s books I’m keeping at my parents’ house, because “there isn’t enough space”. But, really, who has enough book space? Didn’t Terry Pratchett once say never to trust anyone who does? Also, I live in a room with a big window, which is nice except it makes the pages of all my books go orange and their spines all faded.
  4. I find lending books difficult because I tend to lend out my favourites and they’re my friends and what if someone drops them in the bath or leaves them gathering dust in the corner or loses them or something and I never see them again?
  5. People trying to talk to me when I’m reading. The office where I work has a central kitchen area with tables to eat at, and I tend to spend half an hour of my lunch break reading there. At least once a week someone – and it’s always a man – will walk up to me and say something like, “Good book?” a) GO AWAY I’M READING BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO ANYONE ON MY LUNCH BREAK and b) why are you even asking, I’m reasonably sure you’re not actually interested in what I’m reading. Pro tip: don’t do this.
  6. The Lord of the Rings is important to me even though it is incredibly problematic and large stretches of it are, to put it irreverently, boring. (Yes, hello The Two Towers, I am looking at you.) But it’s so thoroughly a part of who I am that I actually can’t not read it once a year.
  7. I am inadvertently clumsy with my books. I always have a book with me, which inevitably means many of my books, once so lovely and shiny, get bumped and scuffed and occasionally rained on. The other week I fell on top of my bag and squashed an orange in there, which meant poor old Bridget Jones went back to the library a little more citrussy than it came out. I eat and drink while I’m reading, too, so they get crumbs in and bits of sauce and occasionally splashes of Earl Grey. On the one hand, it means my books record what I was doing when I read them. On the other hand…they start off so shiny!
  8. Running out of books on holiday. I actually did this recently, in Bologna, having drastically underestimated how much reading I would end up doing. Luckily, Bologna has a bookshop selling English-language books – although I did have to rearrange my luggage quite drastically. I am well aware this problem would be solved by using a Kindle. I don’t want to.
  9. I don’t really like literary fiction. This is a huge generalisation, I know; maybe a more accurate way of putting that would be, “I don’t really like realism” (I’ve read some lovely literary fiction recently by authors like Helen Oyeyemi, Zadie Smith, Ruth Ozeki and others, mainly as a result of the dearth of SFF by POCs in my local library.) Unfortunately, the vast majority of intelligent book conversation in the West is about literary, and principally realist, fiction. I love following the Tournament of Books every March, but I almost never read along, because I’m underwhelmed by so much litfic that gets praised in the course of the ToB. (Everyone said Cormac McCarthy’s The Road was the most harrowing thing they’d ever read. As an SFF reader, I’ve read bleaker apocalypses.) I wish we had more accessible criticism about non-realist and popular genres.
  10. My local library has a worse graphic novel section than my old local library did, which is fucking stupid when you consider how much bigger it is. It also means that I haven’t been able to read any Saga for the last year or so. *sob*

(The prompt for this post was suggested by the Broke and the Bookish’s weekly meme Top Ten Tuesday.)

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