little people, little books, little reading, little love left

This summer I realized that there was an insanely long list of classic children’s novels that I failed to read as a child. I never read A Wrinkle in Time, or Little Women, or even The Little Prince. Apparently I read nothing about Little people (to add to the list, no Thumbelina or Stuart Little, either), so I vowed that I would read 50 books for children or teens in the next year that my friends recommended and were considered “classic” or “essential.” There was a lot of books suggested with talking animals or just horses in general, most of which were immediately vetoed, but primarily I saw the same titles showing up over and over: The Phantom Tollbooth, The Secret Garden, and a gaggle of Judy Blume titles, among so many others. The list initially felt overwhelming but I vowed to document my journey with each book in a blog, which I thought would be interesting to reread once I was finished so that I could reflect on the experience of reading classic children’s novels as an adult, with adult perspective.

I started off strong, adhering to my reading schedule, taking notes and meticulously recording all of the elements that I loved so I could include them later in my blog post. After two months I hit a roadblock—the start of school—and lost all motivation for reading anything with more than 10 pages that wasn’t required reading. I seriously only made it halfway through The Little Prince before I put it down, vowing to come back to it later. IT’S ONLY 40 PAGES LONG, WITH HUGE FONT AND ILLUSTRATIONS!!! It’s not that I wasn’t interested or compelled to finish, but it’s now been two months and I still haven’t read those last 20 pages. I guess what it comes down to is that reading outside of academia has become a burden, even though it’s been my favorite activity since I learned to read. The more troubling aspect is that I don’t know how to get over feeling that way.

Maybe it’s become a Pavlovian response, but picking up a book immediately makes me feel tired, but not in the relaxing, before-bed kind of way that used to be the case. It’s almost as if my brain cannot physically handle being utilized one bit more after spending all day analyzing texts and making persuasive arguments in conversation and in writing. All of my effort is sapped up trying to sound smart instead of trying to be more intellectually and emotionally engaged in something I love.

I have no idea how to fix this, but I hope it goes away once I’ve gotten some distance from this much school work.