When I’m book-browsing, this often happens: skip past romance section, point kids in direction of YA (but I don’t need to look there), ignore mystery section that’s in the way before I finally get to good ol’ literary fiction shelves. Breathe sigh of relief and settle down into my genre.
But recently, I’ve had a suspicion . . . an inspiration . . . a shock that perhaps I’m cheating myself by allowing a closed-minded attitude to book categories. For many genres, I’ve tried them and they just don’t do it for me. I find most mystery novels to be 250+ pages of build-up for 3 pages of Big Reveal. YA (that’s “Young Adult”) usually makes me cringe with puppy love stories and overly-ambitious misunderstood manic pixie girls. I’ve read my fair share of both of those genres, and they’re not my go-to, but I’ll make exceptions if a book really intrigues me or is recommended by someone whose tastes I trust. But the others? I don’t just like them because I think I don’t like them. There are some genres I have renounced without a reason:
- Romance? Like kissy-kissy, swoon, oh-his-biceps-thrill-me? Is that what those are about? Probably not. But I’ve never allowed myself to find out otherwise.
- Graphic novels? I don’t like comic books. At least, I don’t think I like comic books. Okay, I’ve never read a comic book. Is that what those are? I read Maus and liked it . . . Does that count?
- And those punny-titled cozy-mysteries set in bakeries? Are those really a thing? I thought they were just memes.
I NEED TO STOP BEING NARROW-MINDED ABOUT MY READING CHOICES.
Step 1: I’m going to the library today to get Persepolis, a graphic novel recommended by numerous readers that I trust on Litsy. I think I can find graphic novels that I may like. And I don’t want to miss out. This may turn out to be a slippery slope.
Step 2 (completed): I branched WAAAAY out there and got not only just a romance novel, but a historical male/male romance novel. And ya know what?! It was really good! It wasn’t silly, it wasn’t bodice-ripping (or the male version of bodice-ripping). It was historically well-researched, romantic, and unpredictable. Shame on me for taking so long to find these. I’m getting more, and I don’t care if you tease me about them.
Step 3: Cozy-mystery assignment underway. The husband and I have formed a two-person book club to read the most ridiculously-titled punny-cozy-bakery-mystery we could find: Gluten for Punishment. (BlueBuried Muffins was a runner-up). I’m game. And honestly, I think I may enjoy myself. I’m going in with a positive attitude expecting to have fun.
Would love to hear what genres you eschew . . . maybe I can convince you to join me in my transformation?