I’ve had a few books in the past year that I’ve read at warp speed–unable to put the book down to find out what happens next, reading it at every free moment, finishing it within a day or two. 
I’ll often give these books a better rating because I figure since I read them fast, they were great reads I enjoyed. And that’s probably true–something about those books kept me turning pages, which is a complement to any author.
The problem comes when I assume that I’m not enjoying books I read slowly.
Right now I’m reading Daniel José Older’s collection of ghost noir stories, Salsa Nocturna. And I’m loving it. I love how unique it is–I didn’t know ghost noir was a thing, but he nails it. I love the complex characters, the supernatural world-building, the creepiness. I love the lines that can be both beautiful and profane, and have that lovely ring of truth to them.
And I’m reading it slowly. Maybe it’s the writing style, maybe it’s my mood. But it’s okay. Because I’m realizing that while there are books I rip through, there are also books I savor, that I let drip down into me over weeks and even months.
Interesting post! This has got me thinking about what my speed means, and it’s not always clear cut that fast = good and slow = bad. Sometimes too I read slowly because I don’t want the book to end! Love the idea of savoring and books dripping into you. 🙂
Kinda reminds me that some books I gave 5 starts to I barely remember while appreciation for others I rated much lower has stuck with me over years.