Dear His Dark Materials,
I feel weird writing this letter to you because we barely know each other. The truth is, I tried to read you when I was younger but, once I’d finished The Northern Lights, I put you aside never to go back. I just didn’t get you. I really wanted to love you and there were plenty of aspects that I did enjoy. I just got to the and realised I hadn’t really taken in what I’d just read. I’d basically been sleep reading the whole book and taken no real notice of the plot. It made me think, it’s probably not wise to continue. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think you’re bad. I enjoyed the writing. There was no part of me that thought ‘this book is too bad to carry on with’. I just didn’t feel compelled to continue.
It’s something that I’ve always been vaguely embarrassed to admit to. I think I’ve always felt that it was, in some ways, super shameful to have not read you. You’re an important part of literary history. I remember when we got you. My mother found you in a bookshop in Scotland and bought them so I could read you. I started the first book almost immediately but, as I’ve already said, you remained incomplete. I don’t think I ever mentioned it to her that I didn’t finish it. In fact, I remember getting a copy of Lyra’s Oxford a few years later for Christmas. Clearly I’d managed to fool my family into thinking I’d read you. I imagine I did the same thing with everyone else. Which is crazy. No matter how great your reputation, you are still just a book. I shouldn’t have a problem with not having read you.
The problem is, this seems to be a bit of problem for a lot of people. Whenever I’ve mentioned on Bookstagram that I never finished you there are people who can’t believe it’s possible. Now I’m super happy that you have such dedicated and loyal fans. It’s great. However, the more people tell me to read you the more I pull away from you. I imagine nowadays that you and I could become friends. We probably do have a lot in common and would get on well. But you only get one chance to make a first impression. And, quite frankly. the first time we met you did very little to sell yourself to me. You’re like that one really popular person that all your friends love but who I have “a weird feeling about”. It’s not that I think you’re a terrible person but there’s something about you that bugs me.
So I don’t know if I’ll ever read you. I kind of want to and I kind of feel as though as I should. But, there are books I desire to read more. I can’t forget that year. That year young me (I can’t remember how old) made the decision not to do what people thought she should. When I made a choice not to read something for the sake of it. When I decided that this series probably wasn’t for me. I made that choice years ago and it’s difficult to go back on it.
I can’t choose my nature, but I can choose what I do,