
People are often surprised when they learn that I don’t belong to a book club. I adore everything about books – reading them, writing them, and (in spite of my well-used eReader) the very physicality of them, as witnessed by the overflowing bookshelves in my house.
So why not a book club? Many people swear by them. Several of my friends, in fact, belong to book clubs and love them (I’m waving at you, Leah and Alice).
For me, though, book clubs conflict with how books are meant to be experienced. They take me back to high school with its enforced reading and dissection of characters, plot and theme. I’m also not a fan of being assigned mandatory reads. I have enough trouble getting through my own ‘to be read’ pile! And I certainly don’t want to struggle through a book I don’t like so I can share criticisms with others. The most I want to say about a book I don’t care for is ‘it’s not for me.’ Because that book might be just right for someone else.
That’s not to say I don’t talk about books with others. I talk about them all the time. I have friends who love to read and we often recommend titles to each other or discuss what we’re reading. If we read the same book, it’s fun to compare notes afterwards. I’ll admit, book discussions with writer friends sometimes do veer into specifics about what we liked or didn’t like about a given novel. But we generally approach the subject from deep craft point of view and always with the understanding and underlying respect for the many inherent challenges (as well as courage!) that it takes to write any novel and see it through to publication.
At the end of the day, writers write so people will be moved and entertained by their stories. That’s all that truly matters. That and reading the book. So, regardless of whether you’re in a book club or not, read a book. If you liked it, tell a friend. And then read another book. And another . . .
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