I used to be a very promiscuous reader, I would have about four books going at any given time. For some reason, I have not been able to do that lately. I seem to only be able to concentrate on one book at a time, probably because I have less time to read than I used to. When your primary reading time is your hour lunch break and SOME nights at home, it is hard to go back and forth between books, you can’t finish them fast enough to remember what is going on. A few times recently I have tried to have two books going at a time, for various reasons. I picked up Victoria Victorious after I started The Translator, mainly because I thought the latter book would be too sad to read at work. Then I picked up Queens of England while I was reading Botany of Desire, mostly because I just wanted to see how it was, planning to read the story of only one or two queens. Both times I ended up completely finishing the second book before going back and finishing the first book. Perhaps I have ended my book promiscuity in favor of serial reading monogamy.
However, I have noticed a certain yearning lately to cheat on the book I am reading. I devoted a good amount of the weekend to Margaret George’s The Memoirs of Cleopatra and am only about 100 pages from the end (it is a 950-odd page book). I brought another book with me to work today, The Sacred History of Britain, that I bought in hardback at Half Price Books for just $5.00. I am really enjoying The Memoirs of Cleopatra, but after all that time devoted to it, I am very excited to start another new book. I have having a hard time not picking it up and “cheating” on Cleopatra.
I’m not sure what my problem is. Maybe, when it comes to reading, I’m just not made for monogamy.