Through the Obscure

It's a been a while since I've gotten to go to the bookstore; having to choose between gas or groceries most days for the last 2 years, means that I've had to really tighten my belt on where I put my money. And, unfortunately - heartbreakingly! - new books have been on the chopping block every time I sit down to budget out my month.

But every once in a while, I manage to sake my unholy addiction to the written word - by utilizing one, unusual strategy...

I make a bee-line for my favorite section in my favorite bookstore: the discount section of Half Price Books. This is the last chance to purchase these titles before they are collected and shipped off to large scale book-swaps, thrift stores, and other organizations that will help keep them in circulation... though they are likely to never return to HPB.

It’s these titles I get the most delight browsing through in my because, in my humble opinion, it’s the most obscure stories that turn out to be the most fascinating.

But, as we've previously established, time is precious and money is limited (especially in this economy)... even for discounted $3 paperbacks of unknown origin. So the question here, when shopping through the obscure, is this: just how to determine that one of the books - sans wiki page or even author’s website - is worth the scant pocket money and extra hours of daylight?

My solution, my friend, may shock you to your core: 

Skip to the last page. 

Let me explain… 

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No matter how many times I’ve sworn by this method, many of my friends have looked at me like I’ve suddenly grown two heads. 

“But doesn’t that spoil the ending?” And, honestly, that is a good question.

Living in a world of constant surveillance, and commentary from some who you can't even pay to shut up, it's reasonable that a lot of folks are concerned of "spoiler" content, in any capacity. That's actually a big catch-22 of the attention economy: many creators have to share their thoughts, ideas, and opinions with their audience.

But here’s the most interesting thing about books - a fact that I think consistently gets lost in the prevailing attention-economy: 

A good story is always a good story - no matter how many times you experience it.

***

What many folks don’t realize about this method, is that you’re not learning anything particularly revealing about the story itself. You’re simply experiencing the final snapshot in a long series of events that brought the characters to this point in time of the narrative. It would be like referencing “Juliet on the balcony” to someone who has never once read the play; or like quoting “Luca Brasi sleeps with de fishes” to someone who has no interest in sitting through The Godfather.

Context truly does matter for every single tale, because that's where the really good stuff is found in every book; the meat that fuels every analysis, every interpretation, every nerdy-debate. How can you possibly spoil something for yourself when you have no idea who these characters are at this moment in time, or what they have done in the 300+ pages prior to the final page? 

Additionally, this lack of context, is not the only reason the last page of a book can pique your interest.

There is an almost perverse, yet surprisingly effectively, logic for skipping to the curtain-fall of a story:

The storytelling style is a very personal animal. 

***

Think about it: how many books have you forced yourself to finish because everyone else was raving about it? How hours of your time have you burned on acclaimed shows that you just didn’t gel with before you finally threw in the towel? How much your crisp, hard-earned dollars have you thrown at cinematic experiences, you nearly walked-out of half way through viewing? And that's because there is another universal truth that consistently gets lost in the sauce of the attention-economy: not every story is for everyone.

Part of the beauty and joy of engaging with media is that everyone can experience something meaningful and personal from the same source. But that’s no guarantee that everyone will get something meaningful or personal out of the same book. And taking the time to figure out the entertainment you most enjoy, is just as important as anything else you can do for yourself when you have only so much time, energy and resources.

“Last Page Readings” help test your sense of fun and how much you’d enjoy this particular book, because - as every theater-kid or gymnast will tell you- it’s not just how you begin… it’s how you finish.

Simply put, if the book's ending sticks with you - intrigues you - makes you want more - or simply just pleases you - then there’s a good chance you’ll enjoy the book from page one. 

But, if the ending isn’t your jam, and just leaves you feeling “meh" - then there’s a strong likelihood that the book won’t resonate with you, no matter how well written or how well received it is.

***

As of now, I’ve had a 95% success rate with this technique when looking for new books - and an 85% success rate when vetting out new shows and movies I’m personally on the fence with. 

My working theory is because it all boils down to personal taste and the fact that we experience different forms of entertainment differently. 

The majority of the books on my shelf- and the ones I’m most fond of - have never (and probably won't be) mentioned on BookTok because there’re so obscure. There's also something in these unknown titles that just tickles and tantalizes me on a level that very few others will ever fully understand.

Now, in all fairness, this “Last Page” method does not work for everyone. Some people really can’t invest in, and fully enjoy, a story unless they start from the very beginning.

I’m just sharing with you this one, very weird-method of book-searching - one I do advocate for trying out at least once.

It's a great way to unplug, seek out and find what you most like, and really stick it to the algorithm in a small but powerful way. It really is a great way of exploring the ocean of literature that's out there and discover, over and over again, treasures you never knew existed.