I consider myself a well learned, words-loving person. I even spent an infinite number of dollars to get a graduate degree in the field of words, so obviously, I’m a fan of writing and reading the writing of others. When I was a kid, I used to read so voraciously that I could speed my way through half a book a night, and would routinely stay up much later than was advisable just to get in that one last chapter. So yes, I love words. I love to read.
I just hate the bookstore.
For some reason, buying a book at a store (be it a cute used Mom and Pop thing or a huge Barns’N'EveryBookEverWritten) is an immensely stressful process for me. Maybe all the choice just freaks me out. I don’t know. Whatever the reason, I’ve developed my own way of picking out a new literary escape, a way that the New York Times Book Review may frown on, but that nevertheless keeps my blood pressure where it should be.
Most of the time, I go into a bookstore without any idea of what I’m going to buy. I just know I need a new book. My two favorite categories are Fiction and Memoir, so whatever aisle I find myself standing in first is the aisle I stick to. Once I’m in the right aisle, I’ll stare at the covers of the paperbacks (hardcovers are a no no. I can’t pay $36 for a book. Sorry) until one pops out at me. Then I’ll pick it up, read the first few pages and then a few pages from the middle, and if I’m still interested after that, I’ll buy the book.
I don’t research. I don’t take recommendations. And I don’t have any favorite authors that I stick to. I just go by an interesting cover and a gut reaction.
Do I get it wrong sometimes? Sure. There are a few books that betrayed their cool covers and are now acting as coasters on my desk, but most of the time, this strange process has produced satisfactory results.
I’ve told a few people about my random way of picking books, and to my surprise, they’ve countered with their own odd methods. Someone I know reads the last page (why?!) of every novel she’s considering, while another friend only reads books someone else liked first. Their book-selecting ways seem super bizarre to me, but for them, it works. Which makes me wonder:
What does your book-choosing method say about you?
Perhaps those of us who go by cool cover design alone want to be entertained more than we want to be educated. Maybe those of us who read the last page first want to know what we’re getting into before we get too invested. And what about the one who only read novels highly recommended by book snobs and best-seller lists? Perhaps their desire to “fit in” goes way beyond the land of words.
It’s an interesting question, one which I’m not completely sure I have an answer to (I’m a writer, not a psychologist, remember? …Although I probably should have been a psychologist, judging by the dust inside my wallet…). But I do think there’s an interesting connection between our book-selecting habits and our personalities, and observing the way you deal with such a vast amount of choice might clue you in to how you deal with other Big Life Things.
…Unless you don’t read books at all. In which case, you should probably replace “buying a book” with “buying potato chips,” because God knows there’s way too many choices there, too.
