Lover of Books

In High School I was a lover of books. My suitcase would constantly outweigh that of all 5 of my family members’ after 4 or 5 different novels were snuck into the side creases. I brought books to my brother’s soccer games, on long car rides to our favorite Mexican restaurant across town, and even on summer vacation. Our family vacation albums are filled with pictures of me curled up on the dock with a book and a sunburn while the rest of the kids splashed from the lake.

My love of books was probably what lead me to enroll in an Great Books honors program when I was in college. (And most likely my love of story that lead me to becoming a film major). Unfortunately, while my film degree lead me to consume more and more movies and TV by the day, my classical honors education almost dried up my desire to pick up a good book.

The 4-year program demanded thousands of pages of reading from me each week during every semester of my college career. (Don’t believe me? Go and pick up “The Iliad” and “The Odyssey” and prepare yourself for my first week of freshman year.) My semesters were enlightening and intense, and at the end of the four years I can honestly say I earned my class ring. But after shoving thousands of years of literary genius into 4-years of mental insanity, I have no desire to read anything other than the headlines of Deadline.com .

I’m inching on a full year since graduation (and a year and a half after finishing my coursework) and I have successfully read 3 books. The first “The Sex Lives of Cannibals” took me a record 6-months to complete a measly 272 pages. On a slightly better record it took me 1 month to re-read “The Devil Wears Prada” and 4 days to read “The Hollywood Assistants Handbook” - not anywhere near the high literary caliber I’ve accustomed myself to but strangely applicable to my current situation in life.

It’s not that I don’t WANT to pick up the dusty paper backs that are still sitting in plastic crates in the side of my room. The epic tales of the centuries, combined with my own fond memories of microwaveable rice and cherry coke at 3 in the morning, still taunt me as I refuse to both unpack or sell my college treasures.

But, by the time the day is done, and I’ve read through all 118 of my Google Reader feeds, scoured hundreds of emails, and checked every facebook message while praying dinner is slightly edible - I’m exhausted. My brain is too tired to imagine delving into another world page by page - it is much much easier to press play on another Gilmore Girl rerun and know that even if I fall asleep, I can still predict the outcome in the end.

I’d always taken myself as a “lifelong learner” and somewhat glazed over the part of graduation where professors urged us to “continue our love of learning and our love of books” - believing that my newfound freedom would leave me plenty of room to read the books I now wanted to read. But a year out, I’m finding myself on the other side of the table.

What about you? Did years of academic rigor exhaust any love of books right out of you? or are your college paper backs now threadbare from many post-college book-a-thons?

Or better yet, any book recommendations for a post-collegiate who’s ready to slowly inch back into the world of the reading?