My journey to becoming disgustingly well-read (part I)

*Originally published on my Substack!*

I pride myself on my voracious reading abilities. In my prime (about two to three years ago), I was reading a good 100 books a year. I would start a book at 12 p.m. and I’d be closing the back cover and marking it as read on my Goodreads by 12 a.m. Although the demanding trials of an undergraduate education at UC Berkeley has deterred me from hitting the triple digits in recent years, I have kept up a steady 30-50 books per year throughout college (counting the books I read for class, of course).

My mother began reading to me before I was even born so it’s a trait that’s basically in my blood. I cannot imagine my life without it and I also am hyperaware that it is such a privilege to be able to read and understand literature at this level without having to worry about other necessities.

However, looking through my “discography” of reads, I have since realized that my reading habits have been stuck into niches since the day I began reading (aka the lovely romance novels). Now, I have been very vocal about my fierce defense of the romance novel and the rampant misogyny that is rooted in the general public’s rebuking of the genre (see: revitalizing romance reads). I will repeat my 2023 self here because the old me said it best and because I know none of you are clicking that link:

And yes, I do love a good classic. I’ve read every single Jane Austen novel there is (for fun). I love the Brontës, and I own all of Leo Tolstoy’s books. However, this more pretentious side of me is just one-half of my reading persona, the Dr. Jekyll of my bibliophile personality. But, just like in Robert Louis Stevenson’s 1886 novel (one that I’ve incidentally read), there is a Mr. Hyde hidden in the shadows, obfuscating the part of me that loves… saturated, sickeningly sweet, cutesy, lovey-dovey romance novels.

To this day, I will always defend a good romance novel, a cute escape unto a world where delusions are reality and romance is possible (since this is never in the cards for me apparently). Honestly, I’ll probably repost an edited version of that article on this Substack because, not to hype myself up but to hype myself up, I feel like 2023 me said what needed to be said.

However, I digress. While I do not want to cut romance out of my life (in either the real world and in the fiction sphere), I have decided this is the year in which I will enter the realm of pretentiousness in all facets of my life. This has already begun with my music (see: all my album reviews posted thus far and forthcoming) and I am revamping my cinephile persona and bringing back my 2022 phase of watching old foreign films (see: my letterboxd account but like in a couple months when I dedicate myself to this revamp for real). However, in the big year of 2026 and the entrance into (*shudder*) post-grad, I want to enter the “real world” as a disgustingly well-read individual.

Now, I have read my fair share of classics. My favorite book of all time is Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, perhaps the epitome of my literary tastes (why wouldn’t I love a book obsessed with aesthetics and self-indulgence and beauty?). I’ve read every full-length Jane Austen novel there is. However, I feel like there’s a bunch of books that I am missing that I want to be able to not only said I read, but that I truly indulged in, pored over, understood, and imbibed.

Here are the five books I have chosen to read for this year that I hope will jumpstart my journey into becoming disgustingly well-read. I choose five because a) I have a fuck ton of tbr (to be read, for those not with the lingo), both on my broken-down bookshelf in my college apartment and on my new Kindle, that I want to get into and b) many of these books are literally behemoths and I do not have the time to read thirty 1000-page books and understand them at the level that I want to understand them at.

Thus, I will be taking no recommendations. I will add 3-5 books each year of my 20s as I enter what may very well be the best or the worst years of my entire life (who knows, it can literally go very up or very down from here). If I manage to miraculously finish all five of these books before the year is over, I will have a sixth safety option, but I seriously doubt I will be making it there. I might also use this safety option as a substitute for one of the books if I genuinely cannot get through it.

I am starting this series and sharing it with this mindless Substack because I feel like it will keep me motivated to actually open the books. I know the vast majority of my friends and family do not give a single fuck about what I am reading but I like having the tiny glimmer of hope that someone might be interested in this personal development journey or at the very least, pretend to be.

I will not be reading these in the order listed as I am a mood reader and genuinely some Russian literature may not be the February energy I am looking for. I also chose these based off of books I’ve always wanted to read and Internet searches for books I need to read before I die. I care a lot about diversity and reading from different perspectives but I plan to center a lot of my contemporary reads around that goal. Thus, there may be a lack of gender and class diversity in the five choices listed below, but that is a sad result of the “classics” and the limitations for sharing “other” perspectives in their respective eras. In my defense, I’ve already read most of the female literary greats.

I also hate nonfiction, aside from history, so I will not be reading any nonfiction for this journey in 2026. Perhaps in the future, but I cannot stomach that this year alongside my 50 history and pyschoanalytical readings for class.

My 5 Book Journey to Becoming Disgustingly Well-Read (2026 Version)

  1. Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

  2. East of Eden by John Steinbeck

  3. Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin

  4. One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez

  5. Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry

This is subject to change, particularly the last two. My safety sixth choice will be Middlemarch by George Eliot, though this is a crazy security net choice. Some other options I thought of were Les Miserables by Victor Hugo and The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas before I realized that I am not delusional enough to think this is the year I will be reading either of those colossal books. I also want to get through all of Dickens but I also don’t feel like this is the year.

Books I’ve Finished in the Past 10 Years that Make Me Marginally Well-Read

(with links to all of my reviews that downgraded in quality considerably as I got tired of writing 800+ reviews since 2016 for my book blog…yes, I’ve always been this crazy…)

Charles Dickens

Jane Austen

The Brontës

Oscar Wilde

Edith Wharton

Sigmund Freud

Various Classics & Other Reads

This is not at all a comprehensive list and I encourage you to check out either my Goodreads or my book blog. However, I feel like I’ve made some pretty good progress but I am not quite at the level I want to be. This WILL be my year and I encourage everyone to pick up something pretentious this year in an effort to combat the genuinely concerning literacy crisis sweeping through America.

Updates regarding my journey will be shared throughout the year!!

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