I’ve been thinking a lot about the economics and ecosystem of reading, lately. Particularly in the age we live in, reading is becoming increasingly commodified. I used to really enjoy the various reading hashtags on various social media platforms but in a sense it also exacerbates this commodification I see. Your reading and your expression of your enjoyment needs (in the minds of some) to serve a purpose. It needs to bring more people to buy books (publishing companies, distributors etc, not necessarily individual authors). It needs to increase the reach of some. And in order to do that, countless others need to “serve” this greater purpose. Does this sound harsh? Perhaps. And I understand where it’s coming from. It’s not the fault of individual authors who are stressed and who face incredible pressure to have more “exposure” and to sell more books.
I am an author myself and I’m still navigating this very very difficult time we’re living in. Even as an indie author, I’m facing pressure to sell more books or I’ll have to pay Draft2Digital an usd12/- annual fee on top of the 30% deduction for US “taxes” (and I also pay tax on the Malaysian end). But as someone who loves reading and who has recently finally rediscovered a joy and the magic of reading after years of feeling that joy had been tarnished, I protect it jealously. And as an author, I never want any of my readers to feel pressured into doing a “service” for me. And perhaps that is why I’ll always be lagging behind in this publishing game. But it seems like traditional publishing is placing a disproportionate amount of pressure on authors to do this work, who in turn rely on readers to help them. I remember when someone tried to recruit me to be on their “street team” and I was all “Whaaat?”. And I still feel that way. I don’t want to do that to my readers but I do know I have to learn some of the game if I get into trad pub. But no street teams, okay. Not from me. I respect the right and autonomy of readers to read at their own pace and review only if they feel like it without me being up in their business.
I’m okay with my status quo as a reader and smalltime hybrid author. I’ve already turned my love for reading into a profession that pays me well and which helps me empower those who similarly love books, and reading. I can take that hit and I acknowledge the privilege in that. But here on this blog, I will tell you about the books I love and I will talk about it without any pressure from any external source because I’m not accepting any books for review.
Onwards to the roundup:
In May, I read ten books and so far in June, I’ve completed reading two books. I am currently reading Nghi Vo’s A Long and Speaking Silence. I love the Singing Hills novellas so fiercely and am really looking forward to digging into Vo’s novels as well. I badly badly want to read The Scarlet Ball which will be out later this year. I also returned to Elena Ferrante’s The Story of the Lost Child earlier today. I stopped reading it a couple of weeks back because I didn’t want to finish the quartet so quickly (I really love these books) but now I am ready. I also finished rereading Robert Jordan’s Winter’s Heart, which was a month’s long read for me. I’m going through the Wheel of Time books slowly and steadily and anticipate finishing them all this year, after which I’ll probably feel very lost. But so far the highlight of May (and June) was Premee Mohamed’s The Annual Migration of Clouds trilogy.
I’d been meaning to pick up Mohamed’s books for years but never got around to it. However, listening to her GOH reading as well as the Climate Change literature panel over at Wiscon really made me want to read her books. They were incredible books with brilliant prose, gorgeous depictions of the Canadian wilderness as well as stunning juxtapositions between the aftermath of global climate emergencies and the ways in which different communities adapted. As someone who both reads and writes post-apocalyptic fiction, I felt the three novellas I read (two in May, the third one on the first of June) was a masterclass. I also found the characters really relatable and people I would root for, which is not something you always get in this genre. I’m looking forward to reading more of Mohamed’s books because I find her prose hypnotic.
That’s all for now. I wish for you all the same amount of joy, comfort, and sheer magic I get when I dive into books. It’s such a beautiful feeling so can you blame this reader for being so possessive about it?