Christmas means a few things in my house – the chance to spend time at home with family, attempting to eat an entire turkey and failing, watching The Santa Clause and Cool Runnings multiple times, attempting to make everyone play my latest favourite board game and… the chance to catch up on some reading.
The last point has become a much debated activity for my family; having moved out a few years back, any time I get with them is precious. But, you know, books! So reading is limited to long sessions at night and in the morning (when I pretend to be asleep), during post-food nap sessions, and whenever I can get a chance to sit down with a cup of tea.
This year, I have a five days at the family abode and a lot of social activities scheduled. So you’d think I’d take one, maybe two books, right? Wrong. My TBR includes:
- The Hobbit, by J.R.R Tolkien
- Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley
- Sherlock Holmes, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
- Norwegian Wood, by Murakami
- The Name of the Wind, by Patrick Rothfuss
Apparently, I’m as hopeful about the amount I think I’ll be able to read as I am with the amount of turkey I think I can consume.
Realistically, the chances I have of finishing these are slim to none – veering considerably closer to the ‘none’ part of the scale. But I’d like to think that, for those with normal reading habits, my hopefulness is endearing; and that my fellow bookworms will understand my dilemma!