Sunday, November 27, 2011

In the interest of full disclosure . . .

Some of you know me from life; many of you don't (unless my suspicions are correct and my mom is the only one reading my palaver). But before we move forward in our book-related relationship, I have something to tell you . . . something awful.

Today, I was going through my shelves and making a list of books I own but have yet to read (for the love of Ernest Hemingway, WHY can't I stop buying books?). In the midst of my endeavors, I was confronted by some books in my collection that offend my literary sensibilities.

Every reader has these books. You know, the ones you keep on the bottom shelf and hope visitors don't notice and always mean to get rid of but never do because you subconsciously intend to read (or reread!) them even though they remind you of your SECRET SHAME.

Embarrassing books: I has them. Behold!

The ENTIRE Twilight saga. I know! The horror. And now I begin to justify: They were all gifts, they're kind of attractive when you remove their jackets (aren't we all?), they sparked many conversations between my husband and me regarding Bella's resemblance to an emo 12-year-old, and they gave me a chance to practice my editing because of ALL THE TYPOS. I will never read them again, and yet they continue to take up valuable shelf space. I fear they may be cursed.

A gazillion Robert Ludlum titles. These don't really count because they're my husband's, but they're all mixed in with my books. So if you visit my apartment and are feeling judgy, just remember that a man lives here . . . and he's cute, so we let him get away with this sort of thing.

A couple of Nicholas Sparks titles. ALSO my husband's. I swear!

Atlas Shrugged. I cannot resist a free book. I acquired this recently, but I really don't want to read it. I skipped my Ayn Rand phase in college, and now . . . I just have better things to do. And it's so long. And the print is so tiny. But it sits there, just staring at me, reminding me that I've never read anything by Ayn Rand and how did I EVEN get an English lit degree?!?

Wages of Sin (???). I have no words. I can't BEGIN to tell you how confused I am that this book exists in the world, let alone on my bookshelf. I vaguely remember taking this from the Buffalo News book reviewer's discard pile . . . I can't imagine why she didn't jump at the chance to read this. Just listen to the teaser: "She's a witch, a vampire---and evil's worst nightmare . . ." Not only that, it's part of a series. THERE ARE MORE.

If you need me, I'll be huddled in the corner hugging my copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.


  1. I will pay you in cookies if you read WAGES OF SIN and tell us all about its glory.