Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

Originally published January 8, 2009

I’d heard about book clubs for years, but had never actually joined one until last year. I’m not even sure why I agreed to join then, but I did; and it’s been a revelation.

The upside is that the women in this club are all erudite. They have experiences to share. So we don’t spend time discussing our aches and pains (and many of us are at the age where that could be a prevalent discussion); we don’t spend time whining about other things either. At the same time, we don’t always spend a lot of time discussing the assigned book.

At first, I was dismayed because I wanted to talk about the book, its literary quality, its structure, its message. But as time has passed, I’ve learned that a book club may or may not be focused on the book. And I’ve learned it doesn’t matter, because whatever the topic of conversation this group of women has a variety of opinions, all of which are well grounded. I may not have gotten additional insights into the assignment at hand, but I always come away with insights of one sort or another. Maybe, after all is said and done, that’s the real purpose of a book club.