Twilight by Stephenie Meyer
City of Bones by Cassandra Clare
How to Love by Katie Cotugno
46/30 books finished
|Flickr Credit: Pedro Ribeiro Simões|
Of course, I’d be lying if I omitted the fact that I’m excited. I really, really, really, really, really want to reread something by Mark Walden before the summer’s end. Probably Escape Velocity. Maybe Dreadnought. And let’s not forget to recall the feels present in Rogue. You have no idea how often I walk over to my bookshelf and allow myself to skim a page or two before replacing the book among its siblings. I’m getting to be desperate. Breaking my ban will be nice.
And that goes for other books, too. I’d like to reread Tesla’s Attic and Mothership and a few other works authored by guys. I can’t forget the unbelievable talents I’ll get to return to.
Then again, thinking about my TBR dredges up all kinds of regret. One of my goals this summer was to cut down on my physical TBR and I was very successful. As we speak, I only have two books solely authored by women that I haven’t read yet. And both will be rereads.
Breaking this ban means that if I want to work on my TBR, I’m going to read a lot of male-authored works. There’s nothing wrong with male authors, per se—there’s as much to adore in them as with anybody else. But I’m also wary. There are a few problems you’re more likely to find in books authored by white men and I’ll be undertaking those risks again. I’ve kind of being spoiled with such an interesting and enjoyable range of fictional women written by women. It’d be nice to keep that up.
(Admittedly, plenty of books I read this summer were disappointing, but the reasons are a little different.)
Ah, well. I’m sure it won’t be terrible. As much as The Odyssey and The Things They Carried may not be the stories I’ve grown accustomed to, they’re still worth reading. There’s always the library. My Kindle. School will be starting soon, and that brings its very own book list.
Still, I feel as though I’m going to have to lose touch with a system I’ve come to enjoy.
It’s funny. At the beginning of this summer, I doubted my ability to read thirty books by women because I wouldn’t have the willpower to stick to it. I was so sure that I’d cave and want to read male authors more. Now, at the end of this exercise, I’m looking at my diminished TBR and wishing I were reading women for another month.
Then again, I hear my rereads calling to me… Eight more days. I can do this.