This post is partly inspired by the following aphorism by Laeth--don't book a judge by his cover. don't cover a book by its judge—and by some reflection on the reading lists some bloggers post at the end of December.
Although I enjoy the glimpses of others’ reading habits, I rarely, if ever, read any of the books on those lists, particularly when they are praised or come highly recommended. I don’t exactly know why this is so.
When I was younger, I eagerly devoured books others had recommended or praised and often went out of my way to track down the titles when they were not readily available. Granted, the books sometimes failed to live up to the praise and recommendations that had been heaped upon them, but I seldom regarded this as a negative.
The most important thing for me was that I had read the book in question. Whether I liked it or not, or had gotten anything meaningful out of it, were not huge concerns. Time-wasting was not an issue back then. I was still firmly in the mode of gathering reading experiences and aspiring to be “well-read.”
My reading habits shifted in my forties. Being well-read lost its allure, and I became immune to the temptations of praise and recommendation, particularly from the mass media, literary critics, and book culture.
I also formed the habit of mostly resisting recommendations from people whom I respected, admired, or loved unless I felt—and by that I mean deeply felt—that the recommendation or praise originated from sincere motivations that extended into the spiritual (tacitly rather than overtly, usually unconsciously or subconsciously).
Oddly enough, such well-motivated, “spiritual” recommendations often led to disastrous reading experiences that initially had me questioning the tastes and integrity of the recommender; however, with time, I came to understand that these sorts of book recommendations had more to do with something I needed to work at to learn or understand. Whether I liked the book in question was largely irrelevant; what mattered was that I discovered the “thing” I needed within the pages.
I also learned that such recommendations were more about connecting to ideas and establishing relationships with the authors of the books, rather than a bonding experience between the individual who had suggested the book to me.
In this sense, the person who had recommended the book became a sort of intermediary between an idea or the author and me. The relationship between the author and me would be unlike the relationship between the author and the intermediary.
Nevertheless, we were likely all looking in the same direction, at least in matters of spirit, and I have learned that this is what matters most.
Although I enjoy the glimpses of others’ reading habits, I rarely, if ever, read any of the books on those lists, particularly when they are praised or come highly recommended. I don’t exactly know why this is so.
When I was younger, I eagerly devoured books others had recommended or praised and often went out of my way to track down the titles when they were not readily available. Granted, the books sometimes failed to live up to the praise and recommendations that had been heaped upon them, but I seldom regarded this as a negative.
The most important thing for me was that I had read the book in question. Whether I liked it or not, or had gotten anything meaningful out of it, were not huge concerns. Time-wasting was not an issue back then. I was still firmly in the mode of gathering reading experiences and aspiring to be “well-read.”
My reading habits shifted in my forties. Being well-read lost its allure, and I became immune to the temptations of praise and recommendation, particularly from the mass media, literary critics, and book culture.
I also formed the habit of mostly resisting recommendations from people whom I respected, admired, or loved unless I felt—and by that I mean deeply felt—that the recommendation or praise originated from sincere motivations that extended into the spiritual (tacitly rather than overtly, usually unconsciously or subconsciously).
Oddly enough, such well-motivated, “spiritual” recommendations often led to disastrous reading experiences that initially had me questioning the tastes and integrity of the recommender; however, with time, I came to understand that these sorts of book recommendations had more to do with something I needed to work at to learn or understand. Whether I liked the book in question was largely irrelevant; what mattered was that I discovered the “thing” I needed within the pages.
I also learned that such recommendations were more about connecting to ideas and establishing relationships with the authors of the books, rather than a bonding experience between the individual who had suggested the book to me.
In this sense, the person who had recommended the book became a sort of intermediary between an idea or the author and me. The relationship between the author and me would be unlike the relationship between the author and the intermediary.
Nevertheless, we were likely all looking in the same direction, at least in matters of spirit, and I have learned that this is what matters most.
RSS Feed
