The TBR Pile: a mystical creature none of us can conquer
One minute, you’re *finally* ticking a book off your TBR. The next? You’re impulse-buying special editions and rereading the same comfort fic 😭
You know that moment when you tell yourself, “this is the month I finally conquer my TBR”
There’s a plan, you set some reading goals, maybe even stack your books in a cute little color-coordinated tower for motivation. And then? One new release catches your eye. suddenly, you’re in a bookstore blacking out at the register, walking away with six more books, in shock and awe that your unread pile has doubled overnight.
This Week’s Bookish Mood
Me: I won’t buy any more books until I go through my TBR
also me: *starts a brand new series because she saw a 5-second reel that suckered her in*
And it’s not even the new books that get you most times: it’s the old faithfuls
We start books, take a tiny minuscule break from reading, pinky-swear we’ll circle back, and yet somehow somehow we end up re-reading our comfort fic from 2012 instead. What is this sorcery? How do we justify this madness?! And why does every new book promise to be *The One* that changes everything but never ever hits the same??
Reader logic is CHAOS
We avoid starting series because the commitment is too much… but also binge an entire trilogy in two days.
We scream when books end on a cliffhanger but also scream when they’re wrapped up too neatly.
We cry over books but then actively seek out ones we know will emotionally destroy us.
In my defense, some tropes own my soul. Enemies to lovers? Give me all the tension and banter. Found family? My heart melts. The morally gray villain who probably deserves jail time but I’m rooting for them anyway? *Chef’s kiss*
There is something so deeply unhinged about the way we will excuse anything if a character is written well enough. Kidnapping? Murder? Betrayal?
“Well, they had to. It’s tragic, actually.”
The mental gymnastics aren’t the only thing that turns being a reader is an extreme sport. There’s the constant battle of book math: you tell yourself you’ll only read one more chapter, and suddenly it’s 3 am and you’ve devoured half the book. “How much can I read before my body collapses?” is a genuine conundrum.
Then there’s the emotional devastation of finishing a story that wrecked you so thoroughly, you just sit there staring at the wall like you’ve been personally victimized. And, of course, there’s the eternal struggle of explaining to non-readers why you’re sobbing over fake people like they’re your actual best friends (and honestly, sometimes I'm more invested in fictional characters than in actual humans).
And I wouldn’t have it any 👏 other👏 way 👏
Bookish Hot Take of the Week
Drop your votes, and tell me your reasoning. I promise to judge only a little.
Until next time, happy reading, and may the TBR guilt be ever in your favor 🙏
xx Rachel