I’m a fiction girl, through and through. Let’s get that out
of the way now. I think probably 99.9% of the books I read are novel length
stories that some genius person made up in their head. That’s not to say I
don’t like poetry, or short stories, or books that are
biographical/autobiographical in nature, or books that say they are going to tell me
lots of things that I don’t know but I wish that I did, it’s just that I don’t
tend to gravitate towards them…and I am unsure why that is. Anyhow, I wanted to
do something about that – broaden my bookish horizons so to speak and so when
Dolly Alderton’s Everything I Know About
Love kept flitting across my radar and I realised that this could be a book
that I related to, I decided that I wanted to read it. I was desperate to read it. For the first time
since well, EVER, I was all grabby-hands impatient for a book that was less
fiction and more autobiographical. And then the usual thing happened: I got it,
and it took me ALL OF TIME to get around to reading it. I’ve had this baby on
my Kindle since last year and the thing is that I’m trying to get the balance
between reading the things I should read in order to get my reviews up in a
timely fashion and also reading the things that I am in the mood for (and also
my desperation to read it was mixed with a teeny bit of trepidation: this is
not my usual thing)
