They say that if you have a boyfriend, then you don't need a book club. And that if you have a book club, then you don't need a boyfriend. Okay, so no one says either of those things. But I can see how someone might, given the therapeutic qualities of good books and men. It makes me think of the Waldenbooks Valentine's ad that stole my heart back in the day: "Books don't care when you read other other books." So titillating, yet so profound.
Speaking of which, I recently read two books back to back, and neither one batted an eye.
First, there was Beth O'Leary's The Road Trip. A dark rom com complicated by a codependent bromance, it's hilarious and heartbreaking, with an undercurrent of the absurd. It's also unexpectedly layered, and as such, a ride you won't soon forget.
Then there was Leslie Meier's Valentine Candy Murder, a two-for-one special containing Valentine Murder and Chocolate Covered Murder in one festive pink package. These whodunits are more conventional than The Road Trip -- if you consider crime conventional. Which I do, at least within the confines of a cartoonish cozy.
The point is, it's important to read different genres at different times to get what you need. Sometimes life calls for a romance. Or a mystery. Or a memoir by an arachnophobic zookeeper. That's why, even if you have the best boyfriend this side of Bridgerton, you should join a book club. I mean this, of course, metaphorically. You know better than to think that I advocate socializing over escaping into a page turner solo.
Crazy or not, Thoreau was on to something.