Three books. One on data, one on careers, one on motherhood. The first two written by Americans, the last one by an English author. These are the only three that survived my dramatic purge of my To Read-list. It was a scary exercise because I couldn’t stop wondering: Will I survive reading 100 novels so far outside my comfort zone? And what about the books I don’t connect with?
Should I read them until the end just because they are on the list? Or could I bend the rules and put a book aside? A highly philosophical debate for someone like me, a “finish what you start” kind of reader. Over the years, I have forced myself to slog through countless business and motherhood books, even the ones I didn’t like, just in case I missed the one golden tip. But this week, for the first time in years, I abandoned a book.
The book that made me do it was The End of Your Life Book Club. It was love at first sight: a story about a terminally ill mother and her son bonding over books. Technically, it had it all: American writer, motherhood, drama. I knew it was a book I really wanted to read before starting this project.
But I just couldn’t connect with it.
First, there is the mother. She is perfect. Even in the depths of cancer treatment, she is never angry, annoyed, or rude. She is endlessly patient and kind to everyone. Her battle with cancer is told with such ease that it felt more like an inconvenience than a life-changing struggle. It didn’t feel real.
Then there’s the lifestyle it is set in with its consequences. Take the 2008 crisis. In my case, it wasn’t just a headline, it was very real. I was desperately looking for a job and running out of money. For this family, the crisis is like a news item. ‘Something’ was happening, but it didn’t touch them. That same Christmas, the mother roamed all over the city to find a special first edition of a book for her grandchild. Her privilege felt stark in contrast to the struggles so many people were facing at that point.
And then there are the subtle jabs. For instance, the mother is a fierce feminist, in appearance respecting stay-at-home mums with degrees. But she still suggests it would be better if they could go back to the workplace. A small comment that made me feel even more disconnected from her.
Surprisingly, what really turned me off was a description of her receiving endless duplicate books at Christmas. It was not about the act of getting a book at Christmas or giving them all away as she does. No, it was the absurd idea that someone would receive so many duplicate books in the first place. Were there so few books in New York at that time that everyone had no other choice but to buy the same ones?
The book suggestions within the book are similarly uninspired: blockbusters, classics, the usual suspects. For a book about books, it really lacked diversity. The mother did incredible work with refugees. Yet, there are practically no books by authors from the countries they supported or even written by non-Americans. It felt like a huge missed opportunity for a family that prided itself on its literary sophistication.
Would I have reacted so strongly to the book if I weren’t on this project? I am not sure. How much different am I, really, from the author? After all, why did I take on this project in the first place? Because I realised that five years after moving to this country, I had barely read any of its authors, whether classics or contemporaries.
So, while this book didn’t fulfill its initial promise, it did go beyond that. It showed me that it is ok to abandon a book. Not every book is for every reader. Even more importantly, it served as a good reminder on why I am doing this project: becoming a better reader, thoughtful about what I pick up next and why.