I know “bad” is a matter of taste. A person might love what I consider bad, awful, and no-good. This post, then, is not about specific “bad” books. Rather, it concerns why I refuse to read them.
The reason primarily lies with time. I have limited time in which to read books. Thus, I refuse to spend my time reading ones that miss the “good” mark.
On some occasions, the books fail to pass muster within three pages. True story. I’ve shut the book and tossed it into the “return to library” or donation pile.
Other times, I get more than halfway through the book and realize I just don’t care. The characters don’t enamor me. I hold no interest in finding out what happens to them. I shut the book and start another.
Another reason rests in how I read. An enjoyable book feeds me mentally and emotionally. It intrigues, presents the world from an unfamiliar angle, or introduces new, fantastic words.
Even if I don’t understand the book entirely, something keeps me hooked. I want to understand how the form works. I like to think about the effect of words and to discover the underlying themes. Delight occurs when I stumble upon a great line and idea. Everything in me says, “Yes!” (My pen, too. I write in the margins.)
Those are good books. I choose to spend my hours and thoughts with them, not the “bad” books. Nobody’s got time for the latter, right?
Image: Daniel Novta (Creative Commons)