reading audit: second quarter 2017

Half the year done, and I read 89 books during that time. If I subtract the 49 from the first part of the year, that seems low, but I actually also read about five unpublished manuscripts as contract work. The quarterly audit breaks down male-female author ratios and tracks what voices are filling the shelves.

"A thoughtful, honest look at reading habits — the kind of self-reflection every serious reader should try." — reader note

"Her reading audits are the accountability check I didn't know I needed." — blog follower

Tracking reading habits over time reveals patterns that might otherwise stay hidden. A quarterly audit turns the simple act of finishing a book into something more intentional — a way to notice which voices dominate the shelf and which ones remain absent. When the numbers are laid out plainly, the ratio of male to female authors, the mix of genres, and the balance between borrowed and owned titles all start to tell a story about what gets prioritized and what quietly slips through the cracks.

There is something quietly satisfying about keeping a reading spreadsheet. It transforms the ephemeral experience of moving through pages into a tangible record that can be revisited months or years later. A simple row captures the title, the author, the date finished, and perhaps a brief note about how the book landed. Over time, the spreadsheet becomes a mirror reflecting not just taste but the rhythms of a life — busy seasons, quiet stretches, and the books that found their way into both.

The question of who writes the books we read deserves more attention than it usually gets. A ratio skewed heavily toward white authors or male authors is not necessarily a sign of intent, but it is a sign of something — habit, availability, marketing, or the quiet pull of the familiar. Paying attention to those numbers does not mean dismissing beloved books; it means broadening the lens and making space for perspectives that have been easy to overlook.

Borrowing books from the library carries its own particular joy. There is the serendipity of browsing shelves without an agenda, the small thrill of a hold finally coming in, and the gentle pressure of a due date that keeps the stack moving. Library books arrive with their own histories — a coffee stain on the cover, a dog-eared page left by a previous reader — and they leave again, making room for the next discovery. There is generosity in that cycle.

Audiobooks have quietly reshaped what it means to be a reader. Time on the elliptical or the drive to work becomes reading time, and a good narrator can elevate a story in ways that print alone cannot. Some books work better in the ear than on the page, and learning which ones thrive in each format is its own kind of literacy. Counting audiobooks alongside print and Kindle editions makes the final tally more honest and more impressive.

The pile of unread books is not a source of guilt so much as a source of possibility. Every spine on the shelf represents a future afternoon, a rainy evening, or a late-night stretch when sleep feels optional. Some books sit for years before the right moment arrives, and when it does, the wait feels almost intentional. A healthy to-read pile is not a failure of discipline; it is a promise that there is always something good waiting.

Reading nonfiction alongside fiction creates a kind of balance that keeps the mind stretched in different directions. One book offers escape and emotional truth through invented worlds, while another grounds itself in research, argument, and the messy texture of real life. Moving between the two modes keeps reading from becoming too comfortable, and the best nonfiction often reads with the narrative momentum of a novel anyway.

The category of books labeled young adult or middle grade contains some of the most inventive storytelling being published today. These books often tackle complex themes with clarity and heart, and they do not waste words on pretension. Counting them in a reading audit alongside adult titles acknowledges that a good story does not need to be shelved in a particular section to be worth serious attention and genuine enjoyment.

Sharing what gets read — whether through a blog post, a newsletter, or a quiet conversation with a fellow reader — turns a solitary activity into something communal. A reading audit posted online invites others to reflect on their own habits, to recommend what is missing, and to feel less alone in the strange, beautiful compulsion to keep turning pages. In that exchange, the spreadsheet becomes more than a personal record; it becomes an ongoing conversation.