Book Club

Last fall I joined a book club. Joined may not be the right word. Really, I agreed to read books and meet my friends for dinner. I thought this was a great way to keep me reading. When I finished my MBA my appetite for reading was much smaller, so book club would get me back in the groove.
It has worked rather well. I have read a book of short stories, "The Pilot's Wife", "Cry the Beloved Country", a autobiograhpy of Michael Crighton and "Kafka on the Shore".
Unfortunately, my group has not actually read the books. That makes discussions less fruitful, as you can imagine. At first, I found it kind of funny. I reconciled myself that it was a reason to get together with my friends and drink wine. Lately, I have grown more frustrated.
First, there is the cost of the books. They aren't necessarily cheap. Then, there is my time. I haven't liked every book, and in one case, I had aleady read the book before. I knew it was not an exciting read, but I bought the book. I read it, again. I didn't enjoy it, again, but I was ready. I was the only group member to finish the book.
Last night was the limit. We were supposed to read "Kafka On the Shore". It was a little weird, but it was a good book. Most of them didn't even get past the second chapter.
I could see that, if we were reading James Joyce or other classics. But we read Oprah Book Club books. C'mon guys, turn off your brain and read. I guess what frustrates me more than anything is the time element. I make time to read these books. I am busy. I am a mom. I am a wife. I work. YET, I read the books each month.
My club has one other married person. None of the members have children. What are they doing? Sleeping?!?
ARGH!
I recommended doing a movie night, instead of a book for the next meeting. I still want to get together and drink wine, but hey, let's committ to discussing whatever it is we have agreed to. I can only hope they can find 2-3 hours in a month to squeeze in a movie.