I had hoped to share my reading list this year. As I did last year, I had tracked it all on a google map, all the settings and cities and villages of each book, labelled all pretty. In mid-November, I clicked to add a new book and its location, slipped to a key, and somehow lost the map in its entirety. Despite a lot of whining, no recovery possible.
So, it is fitting, in a year in which my life turned upside down with the birth of my son, that I have no record of all the books that let me live inside them.
And I had hoped, when I began this post, that I would come to a deeper reflection of this loss.
If it isn’t already clear, I have not.
So. I read a lot of books this year.
I lived, for a time, in many beautiful worlds.
There’s no proof I did.
Next year, I will track them inside me, instead.