I’ve realized that my obsessive reading habits can occasionally be problematic, enough so that I think a little acknowledgement of my own personal five stages of series reading is in order.

Quick example: Last spring, eagerly anticipating HBO’s debut of the first season of “Game of Thrones”, I decided to read A Game of Thrones (I love how the “A” is what distinguishes the book from the TV show) ahead of time to see what all the fuss was about. I raced my way through it (on a family vacation, accompanied by loud complaints from my son that I was reading when I should be in the pool or playing air hockey), and fell deeply in love with the world of Westeros. I then made the calm and measured decision to wait until after the season finale on HBO to read the next book in the series, so as to appreciate the TV drama without spoilers for the future. Fair enough… but my resolution didn’t last. When loading up my Kindle for a two-week trip in early June, it seemed that A Clash of Kings would make perfect travel reading, and off I went — quite determined that I’d stop after that one. After all, George R. R. Martin hadn’t even finished the series yet, and from what I’d heard, it would be years before the seventh volume would see the light of day. No problem. Except… I’d bought books 3 and 4 at a used book sale a few weeks earlier, and when I came back from my trip, there they were on my shelf, mocking me, calling my name, daring me to crack their covers. I knew I was a goner. Sure, I had a good rationalization for breaking my resolve: Book 5, A Dance With Dragons, was due out in July, and wouldn’t it make sense to read the other books, be ready for the new one, and then stop? Needless to say, my book gobbling immediately encompassed A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows, and A Dance With Dragons. After which, I came up for air, looked around, and thought — now what? Now I just have to wait, along with legions of GRRM fans, for however many years it takes until a new book is released. Meanwhile, that’s thousands of pages of his novels read over the space of about a month and a half, while ignoring everything else on my shelves.

Not that I didn’t enjoy it. But my experiences with A Song of Ice and Fire do illustrate my worst tendencies when it comes to my reading habits.

Time and time again, I innocently read the first one or two volumes in a series, thinking I’ll take breaks in between, read other stuff, make the series last. Inevitably, though, once I get into it, it’s full speed ahead, no turning back, no distractions, until I get through to the very last page of the very last installment, at which point I am absolutely bereft.

I’ve analyzed my series mania thusly:

Stage 1 – Denial: I can start this series and stop after one book. I don’t have to keep reading it. I’m in control.

Stage 2 – Bargaining: Okay, the first book ended with a cliffhanger, so I’ll read just one more, I swear, and then I’ll stop.

Stage 3 – Anger: Stop looking at me funny because all I can talk about is this book series! I do too have a life! Don’t criticize me!

Stage 4 – Depression: There are thousands of books waiting to be read, and I’m stuck here reading this enormous series. There’s nothing I can do about it. Life will be meaningless unless I finish.

Stage 5 – Acceptance: Big sigh. This is when I finally face facts, and admit to myself, in my heart of hearts, that nothing else will satisfy me, that I am, in fact, enjoying the series immensely, and that reading through to the end is a choice, not something I’ve been forced to do. I accept it!

Now let me keep reading.