In thinking about the type of books I like to read, I’ve realised that as life has gotten more real and unpredictable these days, I tend to prefer fiction, particularly supernatural horror and high fantasy. Though I’m not necessarily fixed on just those two. Most of these books can have a little romance, mythology, or whatever else thrown in, and I try to be as open as possible within reason. Life is already scary enough. I just have no bandwidth for nonfiction outside of my day job.
When it comes to reading, I do tend to like stories where something is a little, or a lot, wrong. A house that does not feel empty when it should. A family with a history nobody wants to explain properly. A god behaving badly. A curse with excellent administrative longevity. A person insisting they are fine when they are very obviously one poor decision away from making everything significantly worse.
I like books that leave a little bit of themselves behind and make me want to talk about them afterwards. Books that give me something to chew on. Preferably not enough to start appearing in my dreams, though that has happened before. We are all learning boundaries. Books that make me laugh, wince, drop the book like it’s burning my hands, stare at the ceiling, close the cover for a minute, then immediately open it again because apparently suffering has not taught me restraint.
