The cover over my face should be well known to all the book fiends reading here. I haven’t read it yet. I’ve wanted to read it since Rebecca Skloot started talking about HeLa on RadioLab. And yet…
My relationship with this book tidily sums up my relationship with my to-be-read pile (which is a physical pile, a hold list, and a mental collection of interesting titles). At its best, my reading cycle looks like this: I hear about a book I want to read, (usually several times) and I place a hold on it. The book comes in, I read it (rarely within the allotted time, since I’m usually reading something else), I move on to the next book (often overdue by the time I get to it).
All too often, this process is derailed. Sometimes, my reading rhythm is thrown by a book. The best reader’s advisors ever told me once that a reader requires the right book at the right time. A book read out of turn can leave me shuffling through magazines or starting and stopping different books for weeks. I’ve been casting about lately, and moving The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks around my house, hoping it will help me get my reading groove back.
Since I am a librarian, actual ownership can be a detriment. I was lucky enough to come into possession of this volume thanks to this blog’s authoress and her hootingly entertaining twitter contests. But without that due date nipping at my heels (actually, the due date doesn’t phase me, but the thought of making other people wait while I dally does), I am less inclined to pick it up.
This particular title has also crossed another of my troublesome thresholds. It is blindingly popular, well-reviewed, and loved by everyone. I have read about how incredible this book is on almost every site I visit regularly – the book nerds and science wonks I read all adore it. At first, heavy praise entices, but at some point, my inner crank rears her head and I perversely lose interest in must-reads. I always capitulate, with mixed results—I enjoyed Water for Elephants and recommend it still, but could not finish The Story of Edgar Sawtelle.
I know I will like this book. I want to read it. I should read it before I start trying to apply the lessons of the tbr pile to the rest of my life. It’s next, I swear.
The Nowhere in the Middle 
dolly
February 11, 2011
I circled this book warily for months before finally pouncing and devouring the thing whole. But that feeling of wanting to read a book, then drawing away from it a little bit the more praise you hear–I can relate. So much. Especially with this book, it gets to a point where–“Yeah. I know. I’ll read it. Can’t you see I have a lot of things to look at on the internet? Shut up.”
kate
February 14, 2011
I am so so so glad I’m not the only person who retreats when a book gets a ton of press (several people have now confessed this particular sin to me. It’s like we’re all rebelling against homework we dutifully did as kids).
I’m almost halfway through The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. The thing that got me to actually start reading it was my dear friend tweeting that she was starting it – we never read stuff concurrently, so that was a draw – and then saying that she’s worked with HeLa cells and they are, in fact, a dream in the lab. I read that, then picked up the book. Like everyone else, I’m astounded.
Heather McCormack
February 14, 2011
Er, this book review editor is guilty of the same thing. It’s human nature, really. After I got past my resistance to the hype, I struggled with the medical coverage of the cancer. It’s not gruesome, but it hits close to home. My sister is a cancer survivor. I burst into tears several times.
Alessandra
February 26, 2011
This was a lovely, brief read.
What can I say? Er… well, I am fundamentally brain-dead, tonight. As a result, I have adopted the generally-much-despised telegraphic style… so I will be brief but I promise I shall articulate more, once I break free from impending dooms (and before other Damocles’ swords arrive).
I often fall asleep with books on my own poor self… either because I work with them at night and inexorably succumb to Morpheus during supposed-to-be all-nighters, or because I try to force myself to read “books of pleasure” in bed – something I never do, unless I am reading Waugh or Wodehouse (indeed, reading in bed is almost impossible for me, at night.. I lose concentration.. I need a sofa or an armchair).
However, I shall make another effort for you, Heather.. and will post you a pic.. in private, of course. Haha. X
Will try and get to read this book… I’ve just read a synopsis and it seems dead interesting.