I just finished a book that shall not be named.*

It’s a work of nonfiction, published relatively recently, and enjoying a certain amount of popularity. In it, the author expresses opinions on various subjects. While I agreed with many of these opinions, I disagreed with others.

Despite my disgruntlement with some of its content, I read the book cover to cover. It was a page-turner, so that helped. But even if it wasn’t, I may have finished it anyway. I believe it’s important to read and consider alternate viewpoints. Otherwise, how can we know where we stand? It is only in relation to others that we can establish an identity of our own. It can be refreshing to read skeptically—to forge out a path, through ideas, to who you are and what you believe.

And there are further reasons to get intimate with alternate viewpoints. Sometimes, you disagree because you don’t understand a perspective fully enough; reading about it can clear things up. Other times, the more you read, the more you disagree—and the more you arm yourself with arguments against the viewpoint, should you need them. It’s empowering to be able to talk about a subject lucidly and armed with facts. It’s also empowering to know, in your own mind, why you are living your life a certain way—which may differ from that of many, or even most, of your family, friends, and neighbors.

Do you read skeptically?

*When I feature a book on this blog—that is, when I write one or more book previews on it—this means that I believe the book is, while not necessarily perfect (what book is?), certainly excellent, interesting, and worthy of being added to one's nightstand stack. Sometimes I read books that do not meet this (admittedly biased) standard. To stay within the scope of this blog—which is to highlight nuggets of wisdom in great books and elsewhere, and to carve out a heartfelt and hospitable nook amidst the wilderness of the Internet, rather than to offer comprehensive critiques, first-rate examples of which are easy to find elsewhere—I will refrain from identifying these books by name, author, or other means.

I stepped to the checkout counter with six books. Five of them were hard-hitting: critically acclaimed fiction, nonfiction on scientific and philosophical themes, and a classic masterpiece. The sixth was a fun beach read: a cinematographic page-turner.

The young woman behind the counter snatched the sixth book and looked up at me, face aglow. “This is such a good book!”

“Really?” I said.

I didn’t tell her that I was equally—or more—excited about the other five books. Doesn’t anyone read learned books anymore? I peevishly thought.

But she was right. Book six was good. I devoured it with gusto.

So you see, I value others’ literary opinions. No one has time to read every book, just to decide what’s worth reading next . . . and that makes no logical sense, anyway!

So please tell me: What book did you read, and particularly enjoy, this year?

Then, please, without spoilers, describe it to me: Was it high and bright? Was it grounded and glowing? Was it red, yellow, purple, white, green? Did it surprise you by bursting and fading and then bursting again? Did it begin with a bang and then fizzle out? Did it have an inauspicious beginning, but then end with beautifully audacious sparks?

Do you have weekend plans?

I often dread going to a social event, but then I have a great time and feel energized afterward. Does this happen to you?

Geese are social creatures. We can’t go it alone. We need to be strolling in a group, cool and confident. And moving just as slowly . . . or lackadaisically . . . or glacially . . . as we want.

Honk! Honk!

Of course, sometimes a goose prefers to hide in a forest nook and read a book. That’s important, too.

I hope your weekend is full of gaggles of friends . . . or silent book reading. Or both at once.

If a book has a forward, introduction, or preface written by someone other than the author, I read it after finishing the book. I don’t want to tarnish my reading experience by learning anything about the contents beforehand. I like to experience the work unadorned so that I can form my own opinions. Also, I hate spoilers.

The preface to my copy of A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf—which I duly read upon finishing the work itself—contains a delightful quotation from one of her other pieces. According to the preface, in her essay “How Should One Read a Book?” Woolf writes, “The only advice, indeed, that one person can give another about reading is to take no advice, to follow your own instincts, to use your own reason, to come to your own conclusions.”

You may think differently, but I think this is fabulous advice.

I also think that commentaries should be labeled afterword, conclusion, or, um, postface?—and be located accordingly. Readers would, in that case, be encouraged to read, reason, and conclude first and only later discover the opinions of another.

But what do you think?