I randomly plucked dusty books from various locations around my house. I decided proof positive evidence of my book guilt was in order.
<~~~all those books, over there, are unread.
A fraudulent book impression sprinkled within my bookshelves.
And although no one has asked for a confession of any sort, the burden of my counterfeit book behavior is making me come clean to some degree. For the record, since I'm making this official and all, that's just a small example of my non-read, yet remains on the bookshelf like a satisfied read book.
I didn't start off as a guilty poser. Every book I've purchased was above board, laced with reading intention and consumption hope. I've never bought a book based on a shallow notion it would look good on my bookshelf. Or thought, that just by a books mere presence, my overall book stock would go up.
However, I probably have bought a book or two, to read, just in case someone smart and whip brilliant (read literary snob) found me fascinating enough to say, "Oh Rebecca, you sound so book knowledgeable, pray tell, what was your interpretation of Leo Tolstoy's Anna Karenina?"
Hey, just when you think it won't happen......it would.....
With all that being said, I can claim to having cracked open the spine on every one of those abandoned books. A valiant effort certainly commenced. Each book had it's fair shake to wrap it's arms around me and take me to a new place. Everyone of those book bored me to tears until I simply tossed them aside for something a bit more interesting, a bit more entertaining and a lot less monotonous.
This might be a good moment to mention, the classics I'm really referring to are mainly pre-1940's style of writing and living. I'm not entirely immune to anything that made it on the classic list and can claim reading, front to back, a few.
Sigh. I feel such shame in my lack of enthusiasm for the majority of classics. I'd like to adhere to the notion that it takes a certain sort of mind frame, or a unique personality to bask in the pleasure of swimming though them. For those that do, bravo, I am jealous, because evidently I don't fall into that category.
So much for my ambitions of joining a Jane Austen Club.
I do thank everyone for the comments to my question. Although the impact and dynamics of having a Blog will always evolve, one thing I doubt will ever change is the fact a single comment can validate a feeling that felt so individual.
My aversion to classics no longer feels like a one woman show of literary guilt~