Books I never read

I have scores of unread books on my shelf. I often look at them with guilt, wondering when I’ll have time to read them. There are great fiction books by Marian Keyes, Adele Parks, James Patterson to name a few. I’ve also got some religious literature and one book in particular about the 5 love languages of children. I have a feeling that specific book will make my parenting life more fluid. There’s another potentially life changing book on the ‘Speeches that Changed the World‘ by Simon Sebag Montefiore– in fact I bought it twice! There are all just sitting there. And I keep buying more.

Cover of Speeches that changed the world

Yesterday, I rushed to WH Smith in the airport, again attracted by the books. A book called Gypsy Boy by Mike Walsh caught my eye. It is about a young boy who has to choose between his gypsy roots and ‘freedom’. I read the synopsis with interest and smiled at how familiar the main theme was: breaking away from a mould to become your own person, taking a risk that it’ll be better than never trying. Your roots never leave you but they shouldn’t be limiting either.

I let my gaze rest on an autobiography of Amy Winehouse (1983-2011). May her soul rest in peace. The pictures of her growth physically, and musically were intriguing. One picture of Amy at age 2 brought a tear to my eyes – perhaps because I have a 2-year old who I want to live forever. Amy was an extremely talented soul.

Amy Winehouse (Image via Wikipedia)

The guilt of imprisoning all that literature on my now bulging shelf wouldn’t permit me to buy any books yesterday. I walked away from the temptation this time.

But I have read some books. I recently finished ‘The Ice Princess‘ by Camilla Lackberg, my baptism into Scandinavian crime novels. A fantastic story but one with heavy issues such as child rape. I’m a little sensitive and found the author’s lack of exploration of the psychological issues surrounding it a relief.

My favourite and most memorable read is probably ‘Never Let Me Go‘ by Kazuo Ishiguro. It made me cry with sadness. But I still loved it. I’ve learnt over the years that my sensitivity is a good thing. It allows me sympathise and walk in the shoes of those who are often complete strangers. Now you know the books I’ve dared to read and those I’ve never read (yet!).

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