As a younger adult I didn’t really notice my reading selection from an outside perspective until one day I tried explaining to a new friend what I was reading of late. It went something like this: “it’s called The Grandmother. Translated from the Bohemia. Written in the 1800’s. I don’t really know what it’s about. It doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. It’s about a grandmother who lives in the woods near her grandchildren and how she spends her days. I found it at a flea market. It looked interesting. It has a spinning wheel embossed on the front.” My friend started to question my sanity or maybe just my judgment. I then realized my sweet grandmother book had no real plot. I loved it anyway.
I still think of this book and wonder if I read it again knowing there is no exciting plot, would the experience feel different? I don’t know. I do know I’m just as interested in it though as I’ve learned that part of my husband’s family comes from this very area that no longer really exists- Bohemia. Perhaps even part of my family.
I know there is a reason there are best seller lists for books. I’m just not always that interested in those lists. I enjoy investigating dusty corners and unearthing objects, such as books and looking at them a little closer. Then I can decide for myself if “I” think it’s “good”.