I sometimes think about what it would be like to live in a time and place with extremely limited access to books. I’m imagining a period that is post-printing press, but decidedly pre-public library and/or big box bookstores, and definitely pre-Kindle and overnight Amazon delivery. In my imaginary scenario, having a curated home library would not be a total anomaly, but one’s personal library would only have a handful of books on its shelves, and adding to that number would involve great effort and large sums of money.

Mostly, the thought of having such limited reading options makes me very sad. But a part of me wonders if it would feel just the smallest bit. . . freeing? What would it be like to close the page of a book and have zero questions about what to read next, because there are only two other books to choose from? How would my reading be different without the bookish FOMO or the (totally perceived and self-imposed) pressure to “get through” a large number of books each month? What if regular re-reading was not only optional, but the ONLY option. This imagined scenario of mine has its drawbacks, but it certainly does solve a number of the (completely-ridiculous-but-still-frustrating) “book worm problems” that I encounter in my everyday reading.

Don’t misunderstand me: I LOVE living in an age when I can get my hands on ANY BOOK I want—often for free, or at an extremely low cost, if I’m willing to utilize the library or hold out for a Kindle sale. What a wonderful time to be alive for those of us who never want to run out of something new and exciting to read! Sometimes, though, the sheer number of options can get daunting, which means that the easily-overwhelmed among us must put systems in place if we hope to get the most enjoyment and fulfillment out of our reading lives.

Through the years I’ve developed a good routine for choosing what to read next. My system involves following a number of trusted book podcasts and blogs for the best book recommendations. These recs get added to my Goodreads TBR and holds are placed on my library apps or (on occasion) purchased for my Kindle or physical bookshelves. This extensive TBR allows me to follow my reading moods (with guidance from my library holds) while still drawing from the books I’ve pre-decided that I want to read.

A little more thought goes into knowing which books will land a coveted spot on that TBR. Just because it’s been recommended by a trusted reviewer does not automatically make it a book I will want to read. Before granting a book To Be Read status, I consider a number of factors, including content (I check the reviews to weed out books that are highly agenda-driven or that contain too much profanity, graphic violence or sex, or other unsavory content) and personal interest (I generally steer clear of high fantasy, sci-fi, and horror). I usually veto books that have extremely low Amazon or Goodreads reviews, since I care far more about upping my chances for a successful read than organically stumbling upon a hidden gem. I don’t read e-galleys for this same reason: while the idea of being first to read something new does hold some appeal, I’d rather skip that “early adopter” feeling in favor of plenty of pre-reading data from readers who have gone before me.

One factor that can definitively make or break my decision to read a book is length. Page count is a HUGE deal to me. And because page counts can be difficult to assess due to issues like font size and chapter length, I almost always check the audiobook length to get a true gauge on how long a book will take me to read. When deciding on which book to prioritize between two equally appealing options, I consistently pick the shorter one. [Quick aside on the issue of page count: have you noticed that many books have a similar number of pages? I learned recently that this is not just random coincidence: in conventional offset printing, large sheets of paper are folded into “signatures” of usually 16 or 32 pages, meaning that many books have a page count that is a multiple of 16.]

This preoccupation with book length and my preference for shorter books is not something I’m proud of: I wish I was a reader who loved settling into long sagas, adopting that “long is good and longer is even better” attitude. I admire those readers. But that’s just not my reality. To my great embarrassment and bookish shame, I must admit that I am intimidated by longer books, worried that I’ll lose momentum in my reading life when setting aside other books to make space for a long one—especially if that longer book ends up being one I don’t love but feel I can’t quit because it’s already occupied so much of my time. Opening up a book that is more than 400 pages feels a little risky; settling into a 500-pager is perilous, and buckling down for anything over 600 pages would be downright reckless. What a shame to dedicate so much time to just one book, when that same time could be given to two or three shorter ones that might bring just as much enjoyment.

And then there is the issue of book count, and the reality that reading longer books will lead to a lower number of total books read. While that annual book count really shouldn’t matter to me, I find that it does: I see the value in reading fewer books that offer greater satisfaction and enjoyment, but there will always be a part of me that feels like a lower book count is some sort of readerly failure. (The fact that I don’t feel this way about other people’s reading is proof that this is a false narrative, but still one I’ve been unable to shake.)

None of this means that I NEVER pick up a longer book. In fact, a disproportionate number of my favorite books have been on the longer side. (Three of my #1 picks from the last four years were all over 500 pages: All the Colors of the Dark [597 pages], Here One Moment [512], and The Lincoln Highway [576].) However, I also have quite a few favorites that happen to be extremely short: I love a well-done novella or a mesmerizing short story! (Favorites include Small Things Like These and And Every Morning The Way Home Gets Longer and Longer—a novella whose title is almost as long as the book itself!)

There is something to be said for a book that is exactly the length that it needs to be. I have read my share of books (even short ones) that could have been just as engaging at half the length, and I’ve read some books that ended far too soon. I think that I would be much more receptive to giant page counts if I could have some sort of assurance that each of those pages would be entirely worth my time. Even with a great deal of vetting, there is no getting around the lack of a guarantee that a book will deliver a positive reading experience.

Going back to my imagined scenario of limited reading options: if I were to step into that world of fewer books, I know that I would be a great fan of giant tomes. And I am wondering if I can work that perspective into my modern-day, option-abundant reading life. What would it be like to shift my mentality from desiring more books to one of desiring more reading enjoyment? How might I be able to find contentment in reading one long, satisfying story in place of several shorter ones? Is it possible to overcome my risk-averseness when it comes to taking a chance on a longer read?

I would love to hear from you: do you pay attention to book length? If so, do you love longer books or avoid them? Is there a length of book that is “too long” (or, for that matter, “too short”) for you to consider reading? And when it comes to your preferences, I’d like to know your WHY: if you avoid longer books, are your reasons similar to mine? If you’re in the longer-is-better crowd, how do you get around the reality that reading something longer will keep you from reading all the other books hanging out on your TBR? Do you have any suggestions for helping me overcome my own long-book phobia, or any specific titles that I should absolutely read despite a greater page count? I’m all ears!