It's Not Time

I firmly believe that the books you read help to shape who you become, if even a bit. The right book comes to you at the right time. Books can also take on new meaning when read and re-read at different periods in your life. I am embarrassed to say, as a former English teacher, that I have never read George Orwell's 1984. Although I enjoyed, appreciated, and wholeheartedly delved into Animal Farm, I never found 1984 intriguing enough to pick up. My bib overall-wearing husband references 1984 frequently. I know enough about the text to understand the references, but the nuances often escape me. 

The last time The Bean and I went to Barnes and Noble, I picked up a copy of 1984, brought it home, set it on my nightstand, and read the four other books I had bought that day while dust gathered on the dust jacket of the famous Orwellian tome. After exhausting every other literary option in my home, which includes a copy of well-loved fairy tales, I finally picked up 1984 and began to read. 

Apparently, dear reader, it is not the right time for me to read 1984. I am a voracious reader. I read absolutely everything. Until two years ago, I had never quit on a book. To date, there are two books I could not bring myself to finish. One is a poorly written self-published fantasy that was supposed to be a blend of Gilmore Girls and Practical Magic. It was not; it was awful and riddled with so many grammatical errors that it was distracting. The second is a relatively recently published work of fiction that has won critical accolades and a literary award or two. I wanted to love both books. When I did not love them, I at least wanted to finish them. Alas, my limited time and ADD-ridden brain would not allow it. I struggled with both, but eventually gave myself permission to close the cover and, in one instance, donate the book; in the other, I returned it to its owner, only half read. It was not one of my proudest moments for sure, but I no longer feel obligated to read something that I do not enjoy, or at least take away something positive upon completion. 

As I sit writing to you, 1984, with its angry red cover and intrusive eyeball imagery, sits and scrutinizes my every move. I cannot bring myself to read past page 37. I feel annoyed when reading this book. The main character annoys me with his misogynistic attitudes and simpering repression. His vices and varicose ulcers don't make me feel any connection or sympathy; in fact, they repel me. This Orwellian classic might be the third book I walk away from and close permanently. I can't do hopeless, and 1984 is lacking in hope and humanity. I can turn on the news or log in to social media if I want to feel hopeless. 

No, dear reader, it is not my time for 1984. I will order an Alice Hoffman novel and wait patiently for it to arrive. Until then, I will shelve 1984 on my bookshelf of books to be read, ensuring the angry red cover with the intrusive eyeball faces away from me. Some day I will complete this novel, but not anytime soon. For now, I need something with a bit of magic, a lot of hope, characters I can identify with, and a plot line to carry me out of reality for a bit. Although I admit, I feel I am a literary failure for not completing the book. Sigh. 

On this lovely fall day, stay safe, be smart, read what brings you joy, and keep washing your hands.