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If you’re reading this now, I’m assuming you really like to read books, but somehow just don’t get around to it.
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In 2018, I set a goal of 156, and ended up reading 170.Īccording to Pew Research, the median number of books read by an American last year was 4 (the mean was 12). If I read 100 books a year - just 2 a week - I would not only go through all the unread books on my shelves, but also be able to read all the other books I was hankering for. I fully appreciate Umberto Eco’s point about the benefits of the antilibrary of unread books, but this was getting ridiculous. That epiphany made me realize the magnitude of the treasures hiding in the open on my bookshelves and reading lists. It was enlightening, revolutionary, revelatory: chaos and rigidity as the pathological ends of the mental health spectrum, and integration as the desirable mean.* Holy cow! Here was a book that provided a whole new framework for mental health. Out of a mixture of pique and embarrassment, I just decided to drop everything and read the damn book. One day, I picked it up, looked at the purchase receipt doubling as a bookmark (still on page 40), and realized the book had been on my shelf for 6 freakin’ years. And then picking it up again a year later and getting to page 40 before putting it back on the shelf again, where it could capture dust and radiate guilt. I remember purchasing it enthusiastically several centuries ago, fully intending to read it right away.
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One of these books sitting there diligently gathering dust was Mindsight: The New Science of Personal Transformation by Prof Daniel Siegel ( ebook & print). Heck, there’s even a Japanese word for this behavior: tsundoku. My name is Ali, and I am a unread-book hoarder. Visitors assumed that it must be something shameful I was concealing. They occupied three shelves in my bedroom, covered by a towel so I would feel less guilt when I passed by them (true!). I see all the shiny new books and browse all the little treasures as my brain goes ooooh preciooous. I vanish into a sea of stimulus, novelty, and discovery.īut with the ecstasy there also came the agony of not being able to read all of these insanely cool books. When would I find out about Operation Mincemeat, the successful British disinformation campaign against the Nazis? Or master the physics of cooking? Or delve into the 900-page lives of John Rockefeller and Alexander Hamilton (thanks a lot, Ron Chernow)? I would add them to my Amazon “Interesting books” list, which someday my future self would no doubt tackle all 640 titles thereof.Īnd then, there were the 100+ unread books in my own library. They exert a gravitational pull on me like a black hole pulls in a photon and obliterates all signs of its existence, putting a stop to time. I have a mini-confession for you: I love bookstores.Īctually, that is not entirely true.