Perfectionist Reads a Book

A friend recommended a non-fiction book, a scholarly work on culture clash in America. Being trained as a folklorist, the idea was appealing. The book was well-written, but it didn’t move forward. “Too much spinning, not enough weaving,” I thought. Or, to borrow an idea from another obsession of mine–perfume, “good notes, bad blending.” Had the book been a perfume, I would not have purchased a full bottle, but it wasn’t a scrubber either.

Last night, I noticed I’ve been reading it since December. It’s about 300 pages, and I haven’t managed to flog myself through it. Each night, I’ll read a few pages at bedtime, then put it down. Each time I buy a book I’d rather read, It gets put at the bottom of the stack growing by the side of my bed.
When the stack got precariously high, I had to admit that I wasn’t enjoying the nonfiction culture-clash book. I felt I was reading the same 50 pages over and over. Kvetch, kvetch, kvetch, I thought. But I’m a recovering perfectionist, so how could I abandon a book? No, I must finish it. I tortured myself for another week.

The habit of completing what you start is a good one. But when it comes to books, it doesn’t apply. It’s not virtuous to finish a book that you started in good faith when that book is turning you to a curmudgeon. Drop the book. Quit reading it. Abandon it. Leave it in a basket on someone’s doorstep. Just because it seemed intriguing, just because someone recommended it does not bind your honor to reading every last page.

Tonight I read the last chapter. It was much like the others I’d read. I didn’t miss the 100 pages I’d skipped. And then I cheerfully, grinningly, reached for Anne Lamott’s book, Grace (Eventually), which I hope to enjoy a great deal, for every page.

–Quinn McDonald is a writer and certified creativity coach. See her work at QuinnCreative.com (c) 2008. All rights reserved. Image: school.discoveryeducation.com