Binge Reading

Chocolates. Shopping. Sweets. Food. Coffee. Tea. Alcohol. Books. 

This is pretty much the list of the things I have binged on at some point in my life thus far. The recent addition to the list is books and though I have been a book-addict - craving for my regular dose of reading a book, I have spaced them out. 

I’ve always rated the company of books higher than that of humans, on par with that of dogs and a tad higher than that of classical music, but my recent (unhealthy) obsession with reading has made me wonder if I should seek help! 

In the last couple of days I have read four books, avoided phone calls, meeting with people, procrastinated on tasks and, neglected my own activities, much to the chagrin of folks at home. 

I looked at myself in the mirror this morning - I looked dishevelled - dark circles, unkempt hair and lacklustre skin. Then I looked at the pile of books I had finished reading and justified to myself that it was all worth it!

Even as I am in the process of completing my own novel, I have begun to view writing differently. It’s obvious people are going to take much less time reading a book than the time that was spent on writing it; people are going to get critical, appreciative and indifferent in their takeaway; it may be forgotten sooner than you’d expect it to be and it may not find a pride of place on that coveted book shelf. (This just gave me an idea for a future blog post!)

Every experience is a matter of perspective and, so, since this new-found-knowledge has dawned upon me, I have stopped offering full-of-(my)wisdom reviews on books I’ve read. My simple answer when someone asks me about a book is to “read and find out for yourself”. My opinion of a book must not influence your decision on whether or not to read it. Since it’s pretty subjective, you’ll know for yourself within the first few pages…

Three of the five books that I binged on were autobiographies (one of my favourite genres, the others being history, philosophy, economics, policy and fiction). I also do read self-help books occasionally, but that’s really occasional! 

Penning a(n) (auto)biography isn’t easy. It’s probably more difficult than the life that was lived and, therefore, justifiably, must be notches better. The flow must be designed carefully, the language must be used with intelligence, the life story must be shared with candour and the overall ‘atmosphere’ of the book must be one of sincerity. Not many get these factors right. Not many manage to balance them right, either. End result: a wonderful life can get abridged into a terrible story. But, again, this is only my humble opinion. 

I’ve wondered if my penchant for auto/biographies signals towards any voyeuristic instincts that I may have - a sort of peeping Tina! I sincerely think not. I carefully select the life-stories that I read and the bases are of interests, inspiration, learning, wondering, awe and a wee bit of curiosity. I have been influenced more by autobiographies simply for the humility with which the richness of a life is shared. A biography, on the other hand, could bring in prejudices and influences of the writer, and may not, necessarily,  be an objective narration. The bias may work sometimes and at others it could backfire. 

There was a time, a brief time, when I was a chocoholic and I spoke to select friends about my problem. They failed to see it as a problem! May be they were right in dismissing my queries because I overcame that in a very short span of time. With books, though, since I really enjoyed the time spent on binging but hated the after-effects, I will have to weigh the benefits against the costs and come to a conclusion. Moderation is probably the answer to my binging. Atleast folks at home won’t complain!