Book Clubs

I have been a part of many book clubs in England, probably more than social groups I've joined. It's strange the mix of people who like to read books, then get together and talk about those books.

I think I'm pretty normal when it comes to life skills, but maybe people are looking around at me the same way I'm looking at them when we blather on about prose and allusions. My favourite book club I joined was back in Forest Hill, as I've mentioned in previous writings if you ever want to scroll back that far. I was the youngest by about 100 years (I wish I was exaggerating) but I absolutely adored the people. I was surrounded by powerful, intelligent women who were mesmerising to listen to. There was also an extremely flamboyant man who had a nicer scarf collection than I did, and I observed his colour combinations for inspiration. That group stretched my reading comfort zone and introduced me to authors and styles I would never normally go for. They also showered me with love and affection because my skin hadn't yet sagged into leather bag status and I had all my real teeth.

This other group I'm in...not so much. Although it is nice to gab about a book and see what others think, I don't typically enjoy just flipping to pages I liked and reading them out. I like to dig a little deeper. I feel that sometimes my discussions with this group are on par with that of a guided reading session with my year ones. "Who can find the page where the lead character says she likes cheese?" "Who can make a connection to similar book?" "Who liked the part when the author wrote, 'she bounced in the sunshine?' "

Kill me.

The people who go to these things too are just so bizarre. Usually they are socially awkward, with books being their only friends. It is strange to find a group of people who enjoy books so much, and yet...have not that much to say about them.

Each time I go to this club, I swear I'll never go to the next one. Then I read something interesting in the new book and want to see if anyone at "the club" thought something about it. They never do...but there is always hope. At least I sound smart rattling on and chirping away. If for nothing else, it reminds me that I can read at a higher level than Paddington Bear.