From Book to Book : Thoughts and Time

Some people can move from book to book easily. Flitting about from one hard-cover to another soft worn bind. They go through their stacks of books in record time, leaving them more often than not, bereft with repetition until they stack up a new stock.

Others, like me, find it not as easy.

I'm not saying anything, whether it's bad or good or both. That depends on one's opinion and preferences. I am putting this, as always, to put my own mind to rest.

Once, I was like that too. 

Flitting my way book to book, bind to bind, eager to fill up my whole mind with new and fresh substance. Like a hummingbird on a flower craze. I didn't dwell on one story once I deemed the plot and such satisfactory or more. I needed to find something to look forward to so I won't be bored. I had small attention-span as young minds often do.

I figured, once I finish this book, I'll know how it ends and how it goes so I can always read it again. The notion remains pointless once I ran out of books to read.

It was like realizing you've gone and bought some books eventhough you know very well you supposed to save the money for something else. Oops.

Now, it's the other way around.

I find myself unable to continue reading another book after I've finished one. At least, not until I could see for myself that there are no residue feelings from the last. I don't think it'd be fair to the book and the author if I couldn't concentrate my mind and soul to it.

Huh.

When I put it like that, it sounds like cheating on a lover.

Which, coming from a bibliomanic, isn't so much as wrong as weird. It can be made into a reasonable analogue though. While having internal conflicts over the one book, I couldn't find it in me to move on to the other book without feeling guilty. There.

Not really different from human relationships at all! :PP

I just finished The Monogram Murders by Sophie Hannah and Agatha Christie this afternoon and I picked out The End Of Your Life Book Club by Will Schwalbe for my nightstand stack.

9 pages in, I put the bookmark in and left it there.

The chill and resentment residue from Monogram Murders were still there and I couldn't quite settle my mind about it. As if I couldn't shake the monstrosity that had happened in there.

Plus, 9 pages in and I could already relate word by word what the author writes in his book. I don't have the heart to sully it with such negative feelings. 

It'd be immoral.

I had to settle down, and wait for the feelings to settle themselves quietly.

Nowadays, it takes me days to finish one book, merely because the residue feelings each after the last one would interfere and I had to bookmark my page down.

I know avid readers are proven to be great empaths, but even for me, is it too much?