Every so often, when my thoughts are tending towards the existential, I think about all the brilliant books that exist in the world – and how I will only ever get time to read a small fraction of them. It’s a notion that you could either view as a bit morbid and gloomy, or use as a shot of motivation to throw down your phone and get serious about broadening your reading horizons.
This year, I’ve been trying hard to choose the latter. I tend to read a lot, both for work and for sheer enjoyment, but I am all too aware that there are certain genres, voices and tropes that I tend to gravitate towards, as if on autopilot.
