My Once and Future Reading List (by Nancy Ohlin)

Here is my confession:  I hardly ever read.

When I was a teen, I read a lot.  For me, reading was a magical combination of enlightenment, escape, and evasion; with my face buried in a book, nothing and no one could mess with me or invade my space.   My reading list was enormous and varied:  the classics, mysteries, sci-fi, historical romance, and even psychology.  (In high school, my best friend and I used to pore over Freud’s The Interpretation of Dreams and The Ego and the Id to and attempt to psychoanalyze each other.  I know, serious nerddom.)

This pattern continued through college, where I majored in English and broadened my reading list to Gothic literature, Irish literature, Japanese literature, poetry, drama, philosophy, and more.  My reading ambitions were boundless, especially since I possess the superpower of speed-reading.  For example, after studying James Joyce’s Ulysses in two separate classes, I swore that I would re-read it every year starting June 16, Bloomsday, the day on which the novel is set.

After graduating from college, I scored a coveted job in book publishing in New York City.  Ironically, this is where my ability to pleasure-read came to a screeching halt.  As an editorial assistant, I had to cram in my editorial assistant duties during the day:  typing, filing, and answering phone calls.  In the evenings, I lugged home duffle bags full of fat manuscripts from the slush pile and slogged through them until the wee hours in order to produce my “reader’s reports”—thumb’s up, thumb’s down, or ask to resubmit with revisions.  I also had to read through much of the publisher’s list in order to draft catalog and jacket copy, keep up, and so forth. 

Many Bloomsdays came and went.  I became an acquiring editor, then an editorial consultant.  I didn’t re-read Ulysses—I didn’t read for pleasure at all—but I did become a skilled professional reader, content editor, and copywriter.  Eventually, when I quit the biz and became a freelance children’s book writer, I had a brief second honeymoon with pleasure reading as my life rebooted and refreshed.  I binge read classic mysteries.  I joined a book club.  I lived at the library, happily wandering around the stacks and checking out two, three, twelve books at a time.  I have a vivid memory of reading Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez during this time and wishing it would never, ever end because I loved living in its pages so much.

But over the years, the lovely bloom of this second honeymoon faded into memory as the next phase of my life took over.   I was consumed by a crazy work schedule—I didn’t know how to say “no” to freelance projects, and I was always worried about money—and I had a child.  I tried to be a stay-at-home (single) mom while writing full-time.  Whenever I had five minutes to myself to read, it was Dr. Spock or What to Expect the Toddler Years.

Now, two decades later, my life seems even busier and crazier, although in different ways.  I continue to “read for work,” and with a spirited six-year-old, I’m having to revisit lots of childcare books.  The idea of pleasure reading seems like a distant memory of youth, like clubbing or road trips or staying up until 4 a.m. out of choice.  

In the last few months, I have managed to fit in pleasure reads here and there, including books by some writer friends: Grasshopper Jungle by Andrew Smith, Conversion by Katherine Howe, Criminal by Terra Elan McVoy, and The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky.  Terrific books, all—and they made me promise myself that I would Start Reading More. 

To this end, I’ve created multiple reading piles around my house.  I got a library card in my new hometown.  I’m trying books on tape.  I go to local authors’ readings.  I buy my fellow authors’ books at conferences.  It’s all about baby steps.

Bloomsday is coming up in a couple of months.  In the spirit of baby steps, I’ve promised myself that on that day, I will read just one chapter of Ulysses.  Just one. 

Please feel free to email or Tweet me on June 16 and hold me accountable.