Reading Rescue—M. G. Sondraal

I read every day. This is important to understand about me. Nothing prevents me from dipping into a book even for a few minutes when I’m absolutely knackered. It is as essential to me as breathing. I read to immerse myself in another’s imagination, to see reality from a perspective other than my own, and, importantly, for pure entertainment.

I’m an eclectic reader though fiction is my predilection. My TBR shelves are filled with non-fiction books that I think I “should” read because they explore an interesting topic or would fill a gap in my knowledge. These books will languish for months, maybe years, before I dust them off and make a start on them as I reach for fiction preferentially.

As a non-exclusive crime fiction writer, I’m electing to read more mysteries than I ever did before, to better understand the sub-genres and learn more about the craft of writing an engaging whodunnit. Nothing too graphic. No child abuse. No rape. None of that entertains me.

I must have some science fiction or fantasy, a smattering of romance (though I’ve been very disappointed lately with this entire genre), and some literary fiction, though not from lists that celebrities have selected. For the same reasons I’m selective about my crime reading, I no longer wish to spend my valuable free time reading about people rising above some horrible event. Or not. These books have limited entertainment value for me, irrespective of beautiful language, well-developed characters, thought-provoking scenes, and celebrity and book club endorsements.

For several months, my reading experience has been…suboptimal, and I’ve complained to everyone who would listen. I realize that a novel like The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern doesn’t come along often, but lately I couldn’t find a book I liked even a little and none I thoroughly enjoyed.

Was I just not finding the good works out there? (I hoped so). Were changing publication trends focusing on different styles that I didn’t appreciate? (Definitely part of the problem). Was the market flooded with too many poorly edited self-publications? (Yep, unquestionably though there are undeniably excellent self-published books as well). Whatever the reasons, the quality of my life was distinctly diminished by the inadequacies of my reading material, and I was one grumpy curmudgeon.

Then it happened.

Three novels read one after another that I loved--and not just because I was in the right mood. The Life Impossible by Matt Haig, How to Age Disgracefully by Clare Pooley, and The Door-to-Door Bookstore by Carsten Henn restored my love for the written word and my faith in publishing. Why? All were novels about friendships among disparate characters. Each of these stories reveals how community is found in the most unusual places amid people you would never think compatible. In these times of turmoil, community is so important, and I desperately want to believe we can find it.

And they’re well-crafted and grammatically correct, which satisfies my inner critic.

I just found another novel exploring found family, The Fellowship of Puzzle Makers by Samuel Burr, and I’m on the hunt for more. I’m not greedy. I need just enough to sprinkle in amidst the others, ones that don’t truly satisfy and others that I will never finish (having finally realized that time is too short to waste on books I don’t like especially with TBR shelving groaning under the load).

Help me out with some recommendations.