By February 2025, I had come face-to-face with a surprising truth about my reading life. After a disheartening reading slump, something that hadn’t happened to me in years, I found myself struggling with books that I should have loved. These weren’t poorly written stories or genres outside my comfort zone—in fact, they were right up my alley. But something had shifted. My go-to reading style of sampling a broad range of genres just wasn’t landing anymore. That’s when I began to reflect on a long-standing literary debate: Is it better to read widely or to focus deeply on just one or two genres?
The answer, of course, is: it depends.
Let’s first break down what we mean. Reading widely means exploring a broad variety of books—across genres, authors, cultures, time periods, and even formats. One week it might be a fantasy novel, the next a memoir, and after that, a sharp literary fiction or a cozy mystery. It’s eclectic, exploratory, and expansive. On the flip side, reading genre-specific means diving deep into a narrower lane—perhaps thrillers, historical fiction, or sci-fi—where the rhythms, tropes, and storytelling arcs become familiar and, often, comforting.
This past year, I rediscovered the magic of genre immersion. While curating a book list for the blog, I read seven mysteries in a row—and loved every second of it. The shift brought back the reading momentum I’d been missing. Instead of skipping from one genre to another and feeling scattered, I let myself marinate in what I loved most. The result? I was finally engaged again.
It got me thinking: our reading styles evolve with our lives. As a young professional, I had the freedom—and attention span—to read widely. I’d go from an epic fantasy like The Name of the Wind straight into historical fiction or a sharp family drama without missing a beat. I commuted with audiobooks, spent weekends getting lost in novels, and loved the variety of storytelling that kept me guessing what kind of book I’d fall in love with next.
But life, as it tends to do, changed. By 2020, I was a parent with little time, mounting worries, and a need for emotional reprieve. That’s when romance novels became my salvation. For the first time, I began to see genre fiction not as a guilty pleasure but as an essential comfort. I had spent years unconsciously dismissing certain genres—romance, in particular—as “less than.” But that dismissal was rooted in a flawed belief that being a serious reader meant tackling only important or literary works.
Turns out, joy matters more.
So, I embraced romance novels wholeheartedly. Their predictability and promise of happy endings felt like emotional rest stops in a time of chaos. I no longer felt compelled to force myself through a Booker Prize finalist when what I really wanted was a love story with witty banter and undeniable chemistry.
Eventually, I did return to a wider variety of reading. With a little more mental space and time, I started experimenting again. I explored historical fantasy with The Song of Achilles, ventured into classic territory with Rebecca and 84, Charing Cross Road, and even dipped into darker mysteries like Magic for Liars and The Dry. The genre mix was refreshing, but now I approached it differently—not as an obligation, but as a choice.
Recently, though, the pendulum swung again. The world felt heavy, and so did many of the books I tried to read. I craved lightness. I wanted the literary equivalent of comfort food: rom-coms, sparkling chemistry, and quick wit. (The Ornithologist’s Field Guide to Love hit that sweet spot.) Yet even as I recognized my need, I wrestled with guilt. Shouldn’t I be reading “serious” books too? Shouldn’t I be stretching myself?
But then I realized: reading isn’t a contest. There’s no trophy for tackling every genre or reading the most “important” book of the year. Reading should serve the reader, not the other way around.
To strike a balance, I now let my book clubs stretch me with broader selections—introducing literary fiction, experimental narratives, or under-the-radar nonfiction—while I reserve my solo reading time for books that I know will bring me joy. Maybe that’s the best of both worlds.
So, what’s the takeaway?
Reading widely can open doors to new ideas, help us discover unexpected favorites, and stretch our empathy and understanding. It’s a beautiful, enriching experience. But reading deeply within a genre can offer familiarity, joy, and ease—especially in seasons when our minds and hearts are full.
Neither approach is better. They’re simply different tools for different seasons.
The real magic lies in knowing yourself well enough to choose what suits you right now—and giving yourself permission to change course whenever you need to. Whether you’re sampling a literary buffet or dining exclusively on your comfort genre, you’re still feeding your love of stories. And that’s what makes you a reader.
