Welcome to another edition of Crooked Reads, a monthly(ish) collection of bite-sized reviews about books on a theme and occasional essays. The newsletter will always be free to read, but it ain’t free to write. Consider becoming a paid subscriber or sending me a book from my wishlist to support my work!

Subscribe now

It’s a quandary every reader has run into: you’re enjoying—or at least tolerating—a book for a while, then start to lose interest in the middle of it. It’s easy to call it quits when it doesn’t entice you from the start, but what about once you’ve invested some serious time into it? What happens when you’re more than halfway through a book and still haven’t caught feelings for it?

Most people say to give it 50 pages before you DNF (did not finish) a book, but to me, that’s a lot of pages to trudge through when you’re not feeling it. You should enjoy what you’re reading!

I’m a chronic book quitter and have two methods of DNFing. The first is the physical motion of putting the book down, be it literally on a table, back on the shelves, or in the to-donate pile. The second, more serious method is how I mark the book on Storygraph. For some reason, the digital marker is more meaningful than the physical one; if I mark it as want-to-read again, I’ll probably come back to it. If not, I delete it from my shelves entirely.

Now, join me in becoming a book quitter with these tips for what to do when a book just isn’t doing it for ya.

What To Do When You Lose Interest in the Middle of a Book

Okay, real talk, my first answer is the obvious one: Just quit. Don’t waste your time reading books you don’t like. Life’s too short, etc., etc.

Get Existential

Following the gut instinct you get within the first few pages or chapters, chew on this: You’re likely to only read 2,500, maybe 5,000 books in your lifetime. Is this book you’re slogging through really worth the time that could be spent reading another, better book? Maybe multiple books, if they’re enticing enough? Hmm?

Consider Why You Don’t Like It

If the book is a classic or meant to be one you spend a lot of time ruminating on, it might be worth your time in the long run. Same goes for the books that make you uncomfortable; figure out why they make you uncomfortable and if they’re meant to broaden your worldview or just be offensive. You don’t need to read a book that’s triggering or makes you feel like shit.

Come Back to it Later

Sometimes you just find a book at the wrong time. If you’re not jiving with it right now, set it aside and come back to it when you’re in a different headspace. You’ll be a different person a few months from now, and the book might be meant for that version of you.

Drop the Shame Game

Literally no one will ever ask you to dissect the nuances of [insert classic literary writer and/or work here] at a fancy-pants dinner party. I promise. You do not have to suffer through a book you hate to prepare for such an event.

I hope these tips are helpful to you on your journey of reading only the books that are worthwhile to the person you are at the moment you’re reading them.

xoxo

A version of this piece appeared in Book Riot in 2021.

I’m an affiliate with Bookshop.org and may earn a commission if you click through any book links and make a purchase.

⚡️ Archive | Contact | Directory | Donate | Subscribe | Wishlist

Welcome to another edition of Crooked Reads, a monthly(ish) collection of bite-sized reviews about books on a theme and occasional essays. The newsletter will always be free to read, but it ain’t free to write. Consider becoming a paid subscriber or sending me a book from my wishlist to support my work!

Subscribe now

If you read romance, you’re familiar with this situation: You’re enjoying your fun little romance book when a normal word gets a new use, because euphemisms are fun! It’s always during a sexy scene, and from that moment on, that word is only sexy, and ruined in your brain forever.1

The other day, I was reading a very not-romance book and my eyes caught the word “mound” farther down the page and was like, “oh dang, this it going to take a spicy turn,” but no, it was about a mound of ants. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

Here are just a smattering of words romance novels have ruined for me, and I’m sure they’ve now been ruined for you, too. Sorry not sorry. And yes, I have been collecting these for a very long time.

Chiseled. Delectable. Delicious. Electric. Inner goddess. Supple.

Globes. Pebbled. Puckered.

Apex. Bud. Center. Channel. Core. Entrance. Essence. Folds. Heat. Mound. Nub. Seam. Slit. Wet. Womanhood.

Bulge. Hilt. Length. Manhood. Member. Rigid. Steel. Throbbing. Velvet.

Ache. Crave. Heat. Need.

Caress. Circle. Cup. Glide. Knead. Roll. Scorch. Stroke. Tease.

Enter. Fill. Impale. Probe. Sheath. Thrust.

Groan. Grunt. Hiss. Mewl. Moan. Quiver. Tremble. Waves.

Cream. Erupt. Explode. Juices. Nectar. Pulse. Release. Seed. Spurt.

Whew. Did it just get hot in here?

The backlist

xoxo

I’m an affiliate with Bookshop.org and may earn a commission if you click through any book links and make a purchase.

⚡️ Archive | Contact | Directory | Donate | Subscribe | Wishlist

Welcome to another edition of Crooked Reads, a monthly(ish) collection of bite-sized reviews about books on a theme and occasional essays. The newsletter will always be free to read, but it ain’t free to write. Consider becoming a paid subscriber, buying me a coffee, or sending me a book from my wishlist to support my work!

Subscribe now

If you told me a decade ago that I’d be happily planning an annual Halloween party where we listen to horror movie soundtracks and drink fall sangria (cinnamon whiskey, apple juice, and white wine—it is divine), I’d think you had the wrong gal. I am the scarediest of scaredy cats, and yet I’ve fallen in love with all things spoopy. I’m a bit of a novice to the horror genre, jumping at every single jump scare, replaying a handful of scenes in my head, and having regular bad dreams about others. Along the way, I’ve learned some tips for reading horror when you’re a scaredy cat.

My newfound love comes by way of my husband, who loves Halloween and horror in all its forms. I was hesitant at first, because the Saw movies really messed me up in high school—I still have nightmares about some of those kills. He’s given me a full horror education in the movie world. He’s also thrust various horror novels at me, because you have to read Rosemary’s Baby and Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark before you can see the movies. It’s the law. Or something. 

But that’s enough about my relationship to horror and a horror-loving dude. Let’s get to those tips so you can have a scare-free spoopy reading season.1

How to Read Horror When You’re a Scaredy Cat

Ease Into the Genre

Start off with some classics from Mary Shelley, Edgar Alan Poe, Shirley Jackson, or H.P. Lovecraft. They (hopefully) aren’t going to be as terrifying as modern horror, and they can introduce you to some of the tropes without giving you nightmares.

Wait Until the Sun is Out

If it’s bright and happy outside, the horrors within the pages won’t be able to get you. Theoretically. Nighttime is far too quiet, with mysterious house creaks and tree branches tickling windows keeping you distracted from what you’re reading. 

Keep the Lights On

If you’re not able to secure reading time during the day, then ample light—ceiling lights, table lights, flashlight helmets, whatever you have on hand—is a must. Just, um, don’t acknowledge the things in the shadows.

Make a Cozy Reading Nest

Get your blanket, warm beverage, and best snacks at the ready. These are your first line of defense against getting too scared. The blanket also serves as a shield against whatever horrors just burned themselves into your mind forever.

Secure a Friend or Roommate to Protect You

Bonus points if they don’t laugh at you when you scream in response to them asking what you’re up to mid-page turn. 

Don’t Watch the Movie First

You’ll spoil all the best scares and twists for yourself! 

Read Non-Spoiler Reviews

Please do read some reviews if you need to prepare yourself for any content that’s upsetting for you.

Put the Book in the Freezer

When all else fails, follow Joey Tribiani’s sage advice: Don’t read a horror novel, like Stephen King’s The Shining, without making sure there’s ample room in the freezer. Because the freezer is the only place to keep the book from attacking you.

Or, you know, if you want to be extra scared, just do the opposite of all these tips. Read at night in a silent, empty house and let your imagination wander to the darkest places it can find. I’m not the boss of you.

The recommendation

If you want to be in the know about all the popular horror movies of the world, but are too afraid to watch them yourself, have no fear. Emily C. Hughes did the work for you in Horror for Weenies: Everything You Need to Know about the Films You’re Too Scared to Watch, an excellent new book that gives a plot summary, an analysis of the film and its cultural significance, some talking points if you have someone you want to impress, and a list of recommended readalikes. It also serves as an excellent refresher for movies you may have watched ages ago but have no interest in revisiting.

The backlist

In case you missed ’em, or want to peep the archives:

xoxo

I’m an affiliate with Bookshop.org and may earn a commission if you click through any book links and make a purchase.

⚡️ Archive | Contact | Directory | Donate | Subscribe | Wishlist

Welcome to another edition of Crooked Reads, a monthly(ish) collection of bite-sized reviews about books on a theme and occasional essays. The newsletter will always be free to read, but it ain’t free to write. Consider becoming a paid subscriber, buying me a coffee, or sending me a book from my wishlist to support my work!

Subscribe now

While my reading life is quiet—hey, slump, you can leave at any time—I’m revisiting some of my older pieces around the internet. This one appeared in a slightly different form on Book Riot in 2022.

It’s inspired me to dig back into reading some Hemingway, starting with Ernest Hemingway on Writing, a compilation of tidbits from his books, letters, and interviews, which is such a delight! His style just works for my brain when I’m struggling to focus. And he’s a total a-hole to F. Scott Fitzgerald. It’s hilarious. Up next will likely be my first read of For Whom the Bell Tolls, because after seeing Metallica live, it just feels like the right thing to do.

On to the essay!1

Ernest Hemingway seems more legend than man. He told tall tales about himself—a more heroic version of his war injury, a more loving reaction to his wife losing a suitcase full of his writings—so much that it blurred the line between fact and fiction. Who was he, really? A writer? Of course. A hyper-masculine caricature? Sure. A tortured soul with a long line of mental illness in his family? You betcha.

Most people are firm in their stance on Hemingway: love him or hate him. And I get it; he’s a polarizing dude. He was arrogant, racist, and misogynist, among other things. But he also changed the way readers approached books. He didn’t write terribly difficult stories and he wrote with simple words and declarative sentences. His character-driven stories are for everyday people, with sex and gender always at play. There are no happy endings.

I don’t tend to believe in separating the art from the artist, but I make the exception for ol’ Ernest. Mostly because he’s dead and can’t literally get sued for being a monster.

In Hemingway, a three-part PBS documentary about the life of the famed writer by Ken Burns and Lynn Novick, most, if not all, of the man’s life is covered. It’s very long—each episode is about two hours—and left me feeling like a little rain cloud perched above my head for a few hours after finishing it.

Over at at Literary Hub, Alex Thomas’s thoughts on the documentary mirror my own: “There is no American writer who has left as much literary criticism and speculation in his wake as Hemingway. But after nearly 100 years, that criticism is finally becoming more honest, nuanced and interesting.”

The documentary showcases all the machismo of Hemingway, of course, but also delves into the softer, messier sides of the man, especially in the final installment. There’s another book on my endless to-read list, Hemingway’s Brain, by forensic psychiatrist Andrew Farah, that touches on these more devastating topics.

Hemingway’s work came to me at a time when I desperately needed it. I was in the midst of the darkest depression I’d ever experienced, shortly after graduating from college and entering the “real world.” I’d lost the ability to focus on books—books! the one thing keeping me tethered to this plane of existence!—and picked up A Farewell to Arms at a used bookstore on a whim.

It changed everything. It wasn’t the content of the book, but the writing that enraptured me. Hemingway got right to the point. I didn’t have to worry about my mind wandering over purple prose—he laid it all out with short sentences and repetition. I was transfixed. And cured, for the moment.

Of course, I get funny looks when I say Hemingway’s work brought me out of my depression. The dude was mentally ill, an alcoholic, wrote about war and death, and died by suicide. He was also super racist and a horrible misogynist. Not exactly super hero material.

But I haven’t been able to shake the adoration I have for this complex man.

I named my cat Ernest. I’ve kept a “Write drunk; edit sober” print above my desk since college (although now that I’m looking into it, it appears he never said that and also he wrote first thing in the morning with a clear head, so why would he say that?) and followed that advice liberally for a time. I’ve received countless Hemingway-themed trinkets over the years. I have three different copies of The Sun Also Rises on my shelves and have to resist buying each new edition.

My first apartment of adulthood was in the town next-door to Hemingway’s birthplace, and I made a trip to that house and museum each summer of the three years I lived there. When I got my job in publishing, my friends took me to a fancy Hemingway-inspired restaurant where we drank daiquiris and ate very expensive french fries. Loving Hemingway has become my thing.

I have this memory of being in the backseat of my grandma’s car as a kid and hearing something about Hemingway, of Oak Park, on the radio. The long road spanning the 30-mile stretch from Oak Park to my family’s neck of the woods is called Oak Park Avenue, and I was certain that meant he lived nearby. How long could a street be? I asked to go find his house, but we never did. It stayed locked in my head, though, that this famous man once lived touchably close to us.

While in the hospital for a handful of months before she died, my grandma proudly told every nurse that her great-grandkitten’s name was Ernest Hemingway, just like the writer.

I hope she’s proud of her granddaughter, the writer.

xoxo

I’m an affiliate with Bookshop.org and may earn a commission if you click through any book links and make a purchase.

⚡️ Archive | Contact | Directory | Donate | Subscribe | Wishlist

The newsletter will always be free, and the best way to support me and my work is by becoming a paid subscriber. But if that isn’t your jam, you can always buy me a book from my wishlist.

Subscribe now

Oh, hi.

Since quitting some of my writing gigs earlier this year, I realized a lot of brain space has opened up for me to write the things I want to write. I’m journaling again and considering doing more in this space: Little essays about being bookish, personal bits about being alive, and maybe—get ready—things I learn while writing my book.

That’s right. I’m finally doing it: Writing a memoir of my life with scoliosis, blended with history, science, medicine, and whatever else I stumble upon in my research. It’s currently a single document titled “Word Vomit,” followed by another endless document (and a variety of notes on my phone) filled with articles to read, books to check out, memories to mine, and a slew of potential topics to peruse.

One of the first steps I’m taking is to read every scoliosis book I can find, starting with the rereads: Deenie and Braced. I didn’t read these books until I was older than the intended audience, but they’re so powerful in bringing me back to feeling like a 13-year-old again.

Rereading was once my main form of reading. Why delve into new books when you could return to the books you already know you love? But then I saw that TBR calculator (which doesn’t seem to exist anymore) that took the number of books on your TBR, how many books you read last year, and your age, and spit out some horrifying “you’ll finish all your books in the year 3032!” statement.

So I quit that rereading nonsense.

I had a wee bit of an existential crisis this spring and my solace was burrowing into myself and the things that brought me comfort when I was a teen. I reread the Twilight books, rewatched all the movies—and bonus content, which come in the deluxe 10-disc box set that Anthony got me for Christmas last year—and started to feel a little better.

Needing more fantasy, I devoured the A Court of Thorns and Roses series—and promptly reread them all on audiobook. I’m planning on rereading Fourth Wing before Iron Flame comes out in November. I’m revisiting more books I loved in some of my darker days so I can read them and feel cozy again.

There’s a sort of magic to rereading that I never considered before. You get to revisit a place with hindsight and deepen your understanding of the world within the pages. If you annotate your books, maybe you find joy or surprise in the passages that resonated with your younger self. Maybe you’re reminded of the person you were the last time you read the book.

For me, it’s fun because my memory is absolute garbage. I forget all plot points as soon as I finish a book; all that remains is how it made me feel. So, in a way, rereading is kind of like reading a book for the first time again.

So far, my rereading has remained in the world of fiction. As I begin the (very) early stages of writing a book, I’m dipping my toes into some of the classic writing guides I read a decade ago, and I can’t wait to see what old ideas become new for me in this new phase.

What about you? Are you a rereader?

The nightstand

In the Dream House is a masterpiece. It’s a memoir about queer domestic abuse and writing and how to exist in the world. The format here is perfect, with most chapters just a page long and focusing on a single moment in time. Tales of the past are told in second person, putting you right in the middle of the horrifying story. It’s just magnificent—and a book I see myself returning to again and again.

Note: This book is on sale for Latinx & Hispanic Heritage Month at Bookshop! Use code HHM2023 to get 20% this and other fabulous nonfiction titles.

xoxo

Share

Head’s up! I’m an affiliate with Bookshop.org and may earn a commission if you click through any book links and make a purchase.

⚡️ Archive | Contact | Instagram | Goodreads | Tumblr | Wishlist