“During my last semester at university, I’m really going to take the time to blog.”
Ahem.
It seems I always say this just before a semester gets underway; and then I get slammed with a reading load that would crush a mental weakling flatter than a steam roller could crush an ant. Don’t misunderstand me; it’s been amazing, especially given the fact that I am finally reading what interests me–the great, the noble, the eternal British Literature. But Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones and Charles Dickens’ Bleak House are not exactly known for their slender sizes. But the length and depth of these books are half their charm–I’m honestly not a fan of most modern novels that are, figuratively speaking, the size of the average supermodel.
Granted, I read “chick lit” books occasionally, mostly because after reading the greats, my mind needs a breather. Going from Fielding and Dickens to a chick lit book is sort of like enjoying a candy bar after a huge nutritious meal. The candy bar isn’t substantive, has too many empty calories, and doesn’t edify you–but it “tastes good,” so I read them. The danger of reading sub-standard literature, of course, is that your mind can get fat and lazy with the lack of vigorous reading.
I don’t mean to condemn chick lit or those that read them, of course. Reading is an important activity in our technology-obsessed world, and everyone has their right to their preference. My only recommendation is to sample every type of book out there, build your taste for a host of different things. Fiction, non-fiction, creative non-fiction. American, British, multicultural. Feel perfectly free to read the Twilight series, but don’t neglect The Lord of the Rings.
Happy eating! Er….reading, I mean!
