Since time immemorial, readaholics have been chided, threatened and even yelled-at for their reading addiction. (To respect my mother, I won't mention the incidents where she nearly threw out precious books, lovingly browsed and borrowed from libraries, out of the window, exasperated with the sight of heads lowered over dinner plates :)
Marriage, kids and full work-days may starve us off the time one needs to plunge deep into this Pierian spring, but we readaholics survive! For our sanity, a page here and a page there (even a repeat read) is essential. No de-addiction patch works!
Of course, with the stresses on hand, time hands out different genres on its plate. So, we go through the Dostoyeskies and Gogols with a snobby smirk. This leads us into too much depression that we plunge headlong into the variety of romances. Then, feeling ashamed of wasting time on crap, we tread carefully into the translated works of Gabriel-Garcia Marquez and Paulo Coelho. Not wishing to miss out on popular fiction, we then jump into the Grishams and Pattersons. Of course, maintaining an erudite presence calls for a immersion into the classics, notwithstanding that Thomas Hardy provokes a yawn and Tolstoy puts us to sleep.
Happy reading.
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