In recent months I’ve been reading loads of books. Perhaps too much. I know that my husband doesn’t understand why I read so much fiction (or for that matter write reviews). I have brief moments when I wonder if maybe it is pointless. Is it so nonproductive that I should stop? Then I remember something I realized long ago. We’ve been married 20 years now, and he will admit we have different strengths. I believe one of mine is my understanding of people and situations. I believe I have good instincts, and he will agree that I analyze everything to death. It is a family trait. Well, years ago I realized that a great deal of my understanding comes from reading fictional literature. Fiction isn’t just entertainment (or escaping the real world) ; it’s a study of history and the human condition. It’s sharing feelings and thoughts of/with numerous people. The more details of the equation we understand the better our intentions should be in dealing with whatever situation.
So while I may cut down a little in the short term, I doubt I’ll lose my passion for fiction, and I hope my 3 sons will continue to share it also. Because I do learn from most of the stories I choose to read.
