Zoë Heller and Anna Holmes recently posed the question: Have you ever had a relationship end because of a book?
I found the idea intriguing, and as they both present some of the arguments they’ve had with significant others over books, I envy their passion, at least a little.
You see, I confess: I’ve never dated a man who likes to read.
I don’t know why this would be. I’m known in my circle of friends as reading more than any human being should have time for. I devour books. I read them walking around my house, in the bathtub, in my backyard, and at stoplights. I read them in line at the grocery store and waiting at the doctor’s office. To me, waiting is a cause for celebration, not a reason to get upset, because I always have a book in my purse. And should I forget my book, well, I have a whole stack of books on the Kindle app in my iPhone.
I’ve had friends who like to read, but they usually don’t read the same things I do. I have several friends who read high fantasy, which is too slow for me, and several friends who read literary fiction that goes over my head. So I don’t really have people I can discuss books with, or get mad at when they disagree.
I’m part of an online book club, and while I enjoy it, it’s just not the same as sitting down with a good friend over a cup of coffee and discussing why literary fiction is so damn depressing.
Then again, I also can’t imagine getting so passionate about my opinion on any book that I’d break up with someone over their opinion.
Unless they said I read too much. Then… they’re dead to me.