Book clubs. I was thinking the other day while driving home (when not in a blinding rage at other commuters) that starting a book club might be nice. Tea, goodies and books. What can go wrong?
Then I thought about how book clubs work. Everyone reads the same book then everyone gets together to discuss it. At least that is my understanding of them.
Hm. Everyone reads the same book. That would mean either a pretty limited book club size since I have what seem to be odd tastes for a mid 40s female or reading what mid 40s females typically read. Which bores me to tears. 50 Shades of Grey? Twilight? Weepy books where the heroine is sick and/or can do everything a bulky strong male can do (and isn’t a werewolf – gotta add that qualifier since that does make a difference in believability)? /slash wrists
Then we all discuss it. Why? I mean, honestly – why? Unless you are reading self help/self improvement books (yik), modern political commentary books (ugh) or recipe books (um, not really book club material), why is there a need to discuss? If we’ve all read the exact same book, it strikes me that conversation is kind of down to “ooo, I liked that chapter where…” or “wasn’t it funny when he said…” And that is fine, but to organize an afternoon around that? I just can’t see it.
Now if the book club was people getting together for a couple of hours, cuddling up in their own little niches with cats, tea, a plate of nummies and their own book, reading to themselves and occasionally sharing a bit they found worthy or amusing? That might appeal. And if the shared tidbit sparked a conversation? Well that’d be okay but not necessary. I even thought briefly about a book club where members took turns reading aloud from the same book but discarded that as unworkable. I am too impatient and I read faster than others can read out loud to me. I also have better retention if I read it myself as opposed to listening. I’m not a very good listener, I suppose.
Maybe it’s time for me to just give in and accept that I am becoming a curmudgeon with no sufferance for fools. And I’m pessimistic enough to believe that most of the people I meet in every day life fall into that idiot category (knowing full well that I fall into that category for most of them in return). I just have no patience for the minefields of personal interaction that come with being in a group of people who meet up regularly (Work doesn’t count, we all have in common a desire to not be where we are).
I wonder if there are still jobs out there for an estate hermit. Live on the grounds, contribute a bit of color to the estate by wandering and muttering harmlessly in exchange for room and board.
In all seriousness, I do notice myself becoming more and more isolationist, less and less inclined to make an effort to get out of the house unless it is by myself or with the OAM (I don’t count travel) and worn out at the very thought of even having lunch with someone else and having to make conversation. How do you combat that tendency? Or do you? Do you just accept a future full of cats and house slippers?