why i’m no longer keeping track of how many books i read

seeing reading slumps as opportunities rather than disappointments

Good afternoon, reflecters! I hope your week is off to a good start. I jogged yesterday, in the morning, BEFORE work. There’s not much more I can do to top that this week tbh.

I finished my second book of the year on Sunday night. It sounds wild saying that as it’s March and I managed to read eight in one month once but that’s exactly what we’re here to talk about this week! No more guilt about not staying on track for our reading goals! We’re not in training for anything, so why are we pushing ourselves to these arbitrary “achievements”? We’ll discuss it all below that divider. And if you have thoughts of your own, pop them in the comments so we can all chat about this idea together.

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The first half of 2023 went by without a book in sight. Maybe one or two at a push. And then I read 24 books in about five months. After achieving this goal, firstly, I was shocked, and then I thought I am definitely more than capable of being someone who reads over 30 books in one year, maybe even 40 (and no more, I’ve seen the outrageous goals on Instagram and Threads, that is not me, that will never be me). Unfortunately, though, I started the year in a reading slump, or did I?

A reading slump is when you’re in a period of not feeling it. No book seems to do it for you and sometimes even the thought of opening a book can exhaust you. I didn’t realise just how common this was until I joined the Bookstagram community—lots of posts with aesthetically placed books and steaming mugs of tea with captions reading: I’m in a slump :( or any book recs? I’m in a huge reading slump. And they always read with notes of sadness or disappointment, but why?

Reading slumps are fine, I have no problem with them, but perhaps we should start looking at them differently. What if slumps are just the universe’s way of telling us, okay you’re done with that one, choose something else—maybe they are opportunities to explore the other hobbies and interests we have. 

I will never understand how some people take the phrase “always have their nose in a book” literally. I must do something else with my time, mix it up a bit, take the song off repeat, which is why I’m no longer upset about being in a slump. 

Reading slumps aren’t an absence of something I am trying to chase, it is one door closing and another one opening further along. Instead of waiting by the door handle, contemplating a credit card to jam in between the door and the frame to slice it open, all in the name of an arbitrary reading goal, I’ll just mosey on down the corridor and walk through another door.

This is why I’m no longer keeping track of how many books I read. No matter how you look at it, that number is hanging over you throughout the entire year, and at some point, consciously or not, you’ll pick up a book and put it down again for a shorter book. Is that why we read? To hit a number? Or are we trying to escape to another world, find answers to our big questions, walk in the shoes of eccentric characters. We can’t do that if we’re too busy rushing to get the next train that we don’t stop to see the sights of the town.

At the beginning of this year, instead of setting a numerical goal like usual, I set a minimum goal of 24 books to read this year. Not too much of a challenge but a reasonable goal. But even this casual number quickly started to play on my mind a bit. Storygraph kept reminding me how many books I’d need to read until I was “back on track”, my annual stats on Bookmory just looked incredibly desolate and it was only February! The numerical pressure all of a sudden became so pointless to me that I just gave up on the idea altogether.

How did we read as children? We didn’t have set goals, we just read when we felt like it. I have no idea how many books I read in a year when I was 16 just like I have no idea how many things I crocheted last year or how many sunsets I painted during lockdown. I think it would be odd to set myself a goal this year and say I must crochet 20 book sleeves and 6 tote bags this year and feel a little disappointed in myself for not reaching that goal. I just pick up my crochet needle when I feel like it or paint a crappy sunset whenever the mood strikes me, so why should reading be any different? The tricky part is choosing to read instead of rotting on the sofa but that’s another story.

I don’t look at people sideways for keeping a numerical reading goal. I understand that there are thousands of books we all want to read and not enough time to read them all before we slip over to the other side. A reading goal can help to make sure we’re staying on track so we can eat up as much of that devastatingly wonderful prose as we can. But personally, I think I’d rather completely lose myself in a couple hundred rather than race through thousands just to say I read them.

I’ll still get a little envious of people who talk about the plethora of books they read at the end of each year, but we must all make sacrifices for our inner peace, I suppose.

the secret history by donna tartt (2024)

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