Join a Book Club? Me?

Last month I attended my first ever book club meeting. A YA book club for adults at a local independent book store. It’s not something I ever thought I would do. I read a lot, true. I enjoy talking about the books I read, yes. I’m just not a fan of being told what to read. The very thought of being handed a book and told I have no choice is enough to send me into fits of panic. I’m likely to find any excuse to avoid it, even if it’s a book I would have picked up on my own.

Maybe it was Shane that did it? I was forced to read it in grade 9, and I still cringe every time I see a stump. It could have been Heart of Darkness, once was bad enough, but I had to read it for three separate classes all in the same year. It didn’t get any better with repetition.

So why would I choose to join a book club now? I already read a lot of YA, so perhaps I figured the books would be something I might choose to read on my own anyway. But no, I’ve already established that can’t be it. Maybe it was the friend who gave me a shove. Doubtful, she’s suggested other things before that I’ve turned down. It could have been the promise of the free wine. Let’s go with that. It was probably the free wine.

Where was I going with this? Oh, yes. I surprised myself. The first book was way out of my usual style. I read it, and I loved it. (We Were Liars you should totally read it.) For the July meeting, we’ve been assigned two books. I just finished the first: Bone Gap. Much more in line with my usual reading habits, and absolutely worth the read.(No, really. I meant it. Go get it now, I’ll wait.)

The second book for July is way outside my comfort zone as a reader.  I’m finding myself pushing back and looking for any excuse to not pick it up. It covers topics that make me uncomfortable. Maybe it will be good for me. Maybe I’ll like it. Then again, maybe it will be like digging out a stump.



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