Having just read Margaret Forster’s book ‘Is there anything you want?’ (and written about it,) I have been thinking around this tricky question … and also wondering if the answer has changed with age.
There was a book I was reading recently that suddenly involved a situation in my life of which I didn’t want to be reminded. I abruptly stopped reading said book and actually it was given away. No good to me. So maybe when storylines are both unpleasant and resonate with my experience, I don’t want to continue to read? It is neither fun nor interesting. It is blatantly not to do with the actual nastiness of the plot because I cope quite happily with crime thrillers, some quite gory. None of this touches my own life so I don’t feel uncomfortable turning the pages I suppose.
I also find I can no longer read books that after a few chapters feel decidedly superficial. These are books that I bought and enjoyed some decades ago. Maybe with young children and a full time, demanding job I was simply after some light relief from my reading. Writers like Erica James and Katie Fforde used to give me great pleasure but now don’t hit the mark.
Gill Hornby, Elif Shafak, Tracy Chevalier are favourites at the moment … and David Nicholls, who somehow manages to make a simple, romantic story more than the sum of its parts. Clever, and not superficial at all.