Although I haven't counted, I'm guessing my percentage of blog posts from 2021 featuring books is the lowest since the bell curve opened for business in early 2011. I've finished plenty of notable ones this year but from early January until mid-April my life was so upside down, concentrating on a book was problematic.
Those spare months of reduced reading resulted in a dilemma any lifelong bookworm will understand, i.e. a longer-than-usual list. To manage what remains of my 2021 behemoth, I've adopted some extreme measures:
* Even books recommended by my trusted reading posse of five are being more carefully scrutinized. And those recommended by the two members of that posse with current batting averages under .500 undergo a rigorous interview about the book in question before the monster list is fed.
* No pending candidates for inclusion in my reading posse are being accepted until early 2022, and only then if the monster has lost a good deal of its roar.
* Book club selections - except for those I pick for my club - are being routinely rejected, especially celebrity memoirs, historical fiction (particularly those with the word "wife" in the title), or anything with breathless author blurbs above the title on the front cover. Before you ask, yes, I skip meetings when I haven't read the book. Few things annoy me more reliably than a book club participant who talks about a book they haven't finished.
(Since this post is "about" books [sort of], feel a need to sneak in a recommendation for the bookworms, especially those who like crime thrillers: Try Midnight Sun (2015) by Jo Nesbo. And, good luck with your list, behemoth or otherwise)
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