Rating books -Revisited

Years ago, I talked about why I do not rate my books. You can read the full post here. I have been thinking about this topic some more. Sometimes it can feel quite interesting to look at a topic once again. To see if it has changed, or if it has not.

There is some sort of magic in letting a story meet you where you are. It can be sitting in the summer breeze, during a sleepless night, or on your sofa while your tea gets cold. I’ve never been able to assign a number, a worth, to this magic. Not because I don’t have thoughts about books (oh, I do). But because the feelings I have about them are so deeply layered.

It shifts with the seasons, a book I didn’t love five years ago might become my favourite tomorrow. It might speak differently to me, I might have changed. The way I view the world might suddenly make the book make sense. Other books might simply click with me. They met me where I stood, they held me close when I most needed it. And really, how should you rate that?

Years ago, I thought others might find it strange that I did not rate my books. But I’ve found comfort in it for myself. Giving me the allowance to change my mind, to reshape how I felt. To not have to distill the whole experience into arbitrary numbers or symbols. Then it would be set in stone, then I couldn’t change it.

It also feels kinder to me. Some books are just meant to be enjoyed. Their not deep, nor meaningful, but just that, a story. The way others might watch reality TV, to unwind and relax, that is how some books are for me.

As I said before, the book meets me where I am and that influences how I feel about it. Who was I when I read it? What did I need that day? All these things are personal and cannot be replicated, making my reading experience unique. Just like your experiences are.

I also feel that, especially online, there is this pressure. To always get the newest book. To rank and label them, putting them away neatly, and to go ‘see how great I did this year’. Whereas I love revisiting stories. I have due to the challenges of Goodreads, I have slugged through some books I would have rather not read, and I have also found real gems. Making it in many ways more fun than not. But I realised I never want reading to feel like a chore. It’s my hobby, something I love. Something that relaxes me. It is my greatest pleasure. It’s one of the few things I do for me and only me. Something completely offline. The world is too big, life to short not to read great books.

People go to war over books. Over love stories, over who would still be together and although all of that is fun. I don’t feel the need to defend a story or to be right about books. As if there is such a thing. Of course, some books are arguably bad, and if it’s someone’s favourite, it might make you think differently about them. But wouldn’t you rather know? In general, the feelings books give us cannot, to me, be compared to test scores. Like maths. Reading shouldn’t be a competition, it shouldn’t even be a battleground.

Saying “it wasn’t for me” is good enough. On the blog, I don’t even speak about the books I really did not like. People are loud in their displeasure with books, but they don’t have to be. Because that one book that wasn’t for you might be everything to someone else. What a lovely thing for them to be moved by that story, to have a background or experience that just clicked. Maybe one day it will click for you, and it might no,t and that’s okay.

I sit with stories, cherish them. I share what they gave me, and then I let it be. I trust that you, my dear reader, know yourself enough to know if it’s for you or not. You know, better than anyone, if it might move you whenever you pick it up.

Reading to me is about the stir in emotions, the feelings they give me. Not what my characters wore, not even about what they look like. Because of that, how we feel about them can change. We are learning, evolving every day and let this be the grace you might be seeking because you want to change your mind about a book. Let this be your call to not give a definitive answer, not now, maybe not ever. Because then you have the ability to love all of them, to enjoy the ones you pick up and to let them shine on their own instead of them being put in the shadow of the ones that came before.

Reading, like writing, is a personal thing, intimate in many ways. It allows us to discover ourselves, to grow to heal. It’s not about winning or about getting the best book. It’s about meeting it, where it is, and it meeting your write back. We can connect to a book or not. But just because we don’t, doesn’t make it bad. Within this understanding comes the true value of stories. To share, to keep, to love.