I realize it’s Jan. 11, and (gasp) we’re almost halfway through the first month of the new year. But I’m still mulling over the passage of a decade. I can’t say that I’ve been particularly moved or startled by the mark but more nostalgic – about things of a personal nature and the world at large.
When New Year’s Eve rolled around, I was going to post a list of the best books of the decade. This list was not going to be of my own making, though. You see, I love to read, but time does not allow me to read the variety of book necessary to compile such a list, so I planned to scour the Internet, find a list, maybe a top 100 or so, and post it to the blog.
Sounds easy and fun, right? Guess again. Everyone defines “best” differently. Sometimes it means best-selling, sometimes it means most literary, and on other lists it seemed to mean “most obscure, random book that if not read is a sure sign of your lack of intelligence.”
I decided it’s not about what books sold the most copies. It doesn’t have anything to do with the vampires of Twilight or a particular boy wizard we know so well. It’s not even directly related to Oprah’s book club.
The “best” books of the decade for me weren’t even necessarily written in the last 10 years. The “best” books are those I read during the last decade but that held the most meaning for me, personally.
Some are books that I enjoyed reading with my kids, others were New York Times bestsellers that I found to be a good read, while others were gems that made me reconsider particular ideas or themes.
I’ll post a list tomorrow, but in the meantime, I’d love to know the titles that make up your “best” books of the decade.
Think about it.