The Book Count is a Lie

I am not made for reading challenges.

I bet you are. You can do all the challenges you want. Read only diverse authors; read only the classics; read a book from every genre for year, a few months, whatever it is.

I respect you, person who does reading challenges. Your self-discipline and ability to read things because they’re good for you. I bet you eat all your fruits and vegetables too. You can be secure in the knowledge that you are a better person than I.

I aspire to your level of commitment, but alas, I am doomed to the lesser realms. Specifically, the realm of the GoodReads reading goal where I am, unsurprisingly, behind. Though everyone knows it is an arbitrary goal rewarding merely quantity, not quality (and it is a vicious liar because it doesn’t count re-reads toward your goal...), and you, YOU noble Reading Challenger, dine on hardier meat.

Try, you say to me, try to read that Leo Tolstoy tome instead of that Guy Gavriel Kay novel for the 25th time. Try, you intone once more, try to read that collection of Important Poetry instead of that Trashy Romance.

I would try, Mighty One, were the Kay novel not so beautifully written and calling to my soul. I would try, Exalted, were that romance cover not so lurid and enticing (there are pirates on it!).

You should wash your hands of this unworthy one. It is a losing battle which even your shining armor on your white horse cannot rescue. Just leave me here with my meretricious novels and look back for me no more as you ascend and I shall avert my eyes from your blazing light and return them to my subjacent stacks.

And I shall be blissful in my ignorance.