These complaints always feel a little strange to me. You mean to tell me that strangers on the internet whom you’ve never talked to and most likely will never meet are controlling how, when, and what you read? Are you being threatened? Is there a gun held to your head?

This is where the concept of free will comes into play, and I’m not in the philosophical “Does free will even exist” type of way. Spoiler, it does exist, and a lot of people seem to forget that they possess it.

And I get it, I really do. I’ve read books I didn’t enjoy reading because they were popular in online book spaces or because I felt obligated to read them because they were classics. I understand the pressure of wanting to be a “real reader” (which is a complete bullshit concept, in all honesty). Over the years, my taste has started to solidify itself, especially as I’ve gotten older. I’m more attuned to what my taste actually is. And I read across many genres; it’s not like there’s a shortage of books out there for me to read. That is how most things in life work. You experiment, you try new things, and you learn what it is you like and don’t like. It’s okay for things to change.

If you’re a reader who’s been in the online bookish realm for a while, you can probably see why the argument of “reading isn’t fun anymore because of said online bookish spaces” is silly and frankly, not really correct. There are so many bookish content creators out there; some have narrower reading tastes, some have wider reading tastes, and some are in between. It’s nearly impossible to find someone who didn’t at least share something in common with your own literary preferences. True, reading might start to feel less fun if someone, like a teacher or professor, is forcing you to read something that’s boring or just not to your taste. But what’s your excuse when you’re on summer break?

This phenomenon of reading supposedly not being fun anymore seems to overlap with the rise in people online saying that BookTok/Bookstagram recommends the same popular books over and over again. Depending on your algorithm, that may be true. If you’re being recommended the same books over and over, you are the one who is curating your algorithm to do just that. I agree with almost all of the criticisms of BookTok; God knows the laundry list of issues I have with it. But there is an aspect of personal responsibility when it comes to the books you are seeing on your FYP. Seek out genres you like and (this is an important point) seek out books from a diverse range of voices. Fortify your algorithm against monotony and homogeneity.

But what seems to be at the heart of the loss of fun for reading is “peer pressure,” or more accurately the feeling of inadequacy compared to the big book influencers. I can absolutely sympathize with this feeling. I wish I had the time to read 200+ books a year without ruining my life or driving myself insane. The truth is, the majority of us can’t read hundreds of books a year. And I’m not denying that online bookish spaces are not immune to the toxic effects of social media. But you have to remind yourself that you are not these influencers. These influencers lead very different lives from you, and sometimes that means that they have the time and energy to read dozens of books a month. Some of them are bookish content creators as their full-time jobs (which I am a little bit jealous of, not going to lie). They kind of have to read an obscene amount of books in order to maintain their line of work. So unless your paycheck relies on it, you don’t have to do the same.

When I first learned that people had come to the conclusion that reading wasn’t fun anymore, I was shocked at first. As disappointed in myself as I had been in the past that I couldn’t read as many books as other people were able to, reading has always been fun to me. It never felt like a chore or a competition, because why should it be? I read for my own enjoyment, not to prove that I’m smarter or morally superior than everyone else based on what or how much I read. As far as I’m concerned, (most) bookish influencers aren’t out here to make reading a competition either, at least not on purpose. They’re in it for the love of the game, just like the rest of us.

Remember, you don’t have to rely on the internet to find books to read, and the amount of books you manage to read in a year doesn’t matter. When you went to the library or the bookstore as a kid, did you think to yourself, “I wonder if I should read this book because a stranger said I should” or, “I need to read this many books a year to be a real reader”? No, you read because you wanted to, and because you knew it would bring you joy (at least I hope this is the case). Because this is your life, and you can read any book you find yourself drawn towards, whether you’ve seen other people talk about it or not, and you can read as many or as few books as you want. So go make reading fun for yourself. Who’s going to judge you?

(If you want to see my reading updates, follow me on Storygraph —> j_thelesbian)

There’s a good chance that I will get flamed for this, but I’m going to say it anyway: I kind of hate poetry.

My dislike of the medium of poetry doesn’t really make much sense, not even to me. I love literature, I love reading. I’m an English major, for god’s sake. I should be over the moon about poetry. Frankly, it makes me feel pretty stupid.

The poetry-reading experience is, for me, quite complicated. When I read poetry, most of the time I have no idea what the author is trying to convey. Sometimes I can though, and I marvel about the way poets are able to express meaning in such interesting and surprising ways. Other times, I have to decipher and make educated guesses as to what the poem is about. This isn’t something I struggle too much with when reading novels. I enjoy ambiguity and open-endedness in a novel because it leaves so much to discuss and to think over. My experience with poetry is not at all like reading a novel. And I’m someone who loves a strange, experimental book, which is partly why my dislike of poetry makes no sense.

But if there’ one thing I dislike more than reading poetry, it’s writing it. Granted, my hatred of writing poetry comes mostly from being forced to write it in school, an unfortunate part of being an English major. Whenever I write poetry, I can’t help but feel like I’m doing it all wrong. I never know the right words or phrases to use. Everything I write ends up reading as clunky. I’ve never really been confident in my writing skills, which I think plays a big part in why I don’t like to write poetry. In the writing classes I’ve taken in the past, there were always people who seemed to have a knack for poetry, of which I was a little bit envious. I’ve read poetry collections both in school and outside of school and I think to myself, “How did they come up with that?” I often make the mistake of comparing myself to people who have many more years of experience than me, and sometimes I cannot cope with the fact that I am not like those authors that I aspire to be so much. So, in trying to get more comfortable with being bad at writing I’ve been dabbling in writing poetry, however I don’t know how long it will last before I get tired of filling my notebook pages with shitty poems. I wish so hard I was good at poetry, but I’m not beating myself up about it. There’s plenty of other things I’m good at (none of which I can think of right now), so let this be a PSA to fellow writers and literary enthusiasts. You don’t have to pretend to like poetry to be a “real writer”; your English professors will live, I promise you.

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous is a very widely-renowned novel, and I felt the FOMO of it quite strongly. It had a lot of the qualities that I find attractive in a novel; queer characters and themes, beautiful prose, and a pretty hardback cover. So, I finally picked it up, and I am happy to say that it 100% lives up to the hype.

For a book that paints such an intimate portrait of the main character, Little Dog, and his own trauma, thoughts and emotions, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous is in many ways a generational saga. Throughout the novel, there are several sequences of flashbacks narrated entirely by Little Dog that document his family’s history, starting when the Vietnam War breaks out and following his grandmother, his mother, aunt, and grandfather, documenting how Little Dog came to be born in the U.S. In fact, the entire novel is told in epistolary flashback, in the form of Little Dog writing his mother a letter. His family’s story is inevitably shaped by war and generational trauma that comes with experiencing it. We as the reader are shown how famous figures and events of the 90s-00s shape and affect Little Dog’s life and shape his identity. The historical references don’t distract from the main character’s story and character arc; they establish the time in which the story takes place, giving a backdrop to the main character’s life.

Little Dog’s childhood is not the happiest of childhoods. Growing up in a predominantly white neighborhood and surrounded by a culture plagued with toxic masculinity, he learns very quickly to shrink himself to try to save himself the pain of dealing with racism and homophobia. His mother often takes her frustrations and her pain out on him, thus complicating their relationship. Little Dog has to figure out a lot of things out on his own, including his identity and sense of self.

Queerness is a core part of the main character’s experience, and by extension is a core theme of the book itself. Of course, the process of Little Dog discovering his sexuality is not necessarily easy or happy or joyous. His experiences with queerphobia start when he’s young and they don’t stop as he gets older. He receives homophobia in different ways and from different people throughout his life; from his peers growing up, strangers on the street, and even from his own mother. Exploring gender expression and queer sexuality is an essential part of Little Dog’s story. The book does not make room for any sanitization of queerness or the self-discovery journey, instead showing the very real aspects of the queer experience that aren’t always so beautiful or easy. Nothing about this book, in fact, is sanitized. We are shown the main character dealing with racism, queerphobia, abuse and trauma, yet the ending still feels hopeful.

This book is about a son’s relationship with his mother, but it also is about the son himself; his own shame, trauma, fear of asserting himself and speaking up. I feel like the story takes a bit of a sharp turn in this direction towards the middle and last half of the book. As the main character grows up and enters adolescence/adulthood, we see him discovering himself as he starts to become his own person. It’s at this point in the book it doesn’t feel like he’s writing to his mother, but rather to an abstract audience. But I think maybe that’s intentional. His mother becomes less important to the story, it seems, but she is still a lingering presence in Little Dog’s life, always there for him no matter what, despite their relationship being turbulent at times. I got emotional while reading this book, which I think is because of Ocean Vuong’s visceral, poetic writing. He has the ability to almost write emotions into existence with his prose. It’s so well-written and there’s so much that can be taken from this novel. Honestly, I think that everyone should read it. It’s a truly incredible novel, and I will be thinking about it for years to come.

1. Butterflies

I don’t know what it is about butterflies that have queer energy, but I think this one might be just me. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re so beautiful

2. Flowers

The cottagecore lesbians are gonna love this one.

3. Wearing multiple rings

I don’t need to explain further.

4. Having grandma hobbies

Knitting, sewing, crochet, all of them have distinctly lesbian energy. I can’t tell you which one is the most lesbian, but they’re all lesbian in some way.

5. Chronically single wine aunts

We all know the stereotype. But don’t judge your single, broke wine aunt too hard. She’s probably waiting to be swept off her feet by a beautiful woman.

6. Bookstore/café combos

You might catch your local lesbian couples going on dates in one of these.

7. Lipstick

Women always look so beautiful in lipstick, and we know femme lesbians rock it like nobody else does. Never change, ladies.

8. Dr. Pepper

This one might just be me. I love Dr. Pepper and I’m a lesbian. Sue me.

9. Being bilingual

We all know that lesbians love to find their wives on the other side of the world, which usually means having to learn a new language. I admire the dedication.

10. The moon

We all know the moon has feminine energy, and what could be more feminine than loving women?

11. Nature

Many queer women, myself included, love nature. If a lesbian isn’t the super athletic type, you can bet that they’re the outdoorsy type.

12. Witches/Witchcraft

I’m starting to think witches are actually just… lesbian. Think about it; they defy patriarchal standards, they congregate in covens, and they live man-free lives. What could be more lesbian than that?