Sara Hildreth challenges a pervasive piece of reading advice by arguing that the instinct to "save the good stuff" is often a rational, even necessary, strategy for a fulfilling literary life, rather than a failure of discipline. In an era where reading habits are frequently gamified and optimized for productivity, Hildreth offers a rare permission slip to embrace the messy, inconsistent reality of how we actually consume stories.
The Illusion of Optimization
Hildreth begins by identifying a common anxiety among book lovers: the tendency to hoard beloved titles on a shelf while consuming mediocre or obligatory reads. She notes that "one of the most ubiquitous annual goals and intentions I see from people who share these sorts of things online is 'don't save the good stuff.'" This advice, while well-intentioned, often stems from a misunderstanding of why we curate our libraries. Hildreth argues that for many, this hoarding is not about fear, but about the psychological comfort of knowing that great art is waiting. "There's something wonderful about knowing we have books we will love waiting for us when we need them," she writes. This sentiment reframes the "saved" book not as a neglected asset, but as a safety net for the soul.
The author suggests that our hesitation to open these books often stems from external pressures rather than internal apathy. We are frequently swayed by the "hype" of new releases or the social obligation to participate in current cultural conversations. Hildreth admits, "It's not that I think these new books will necessarily be better than the ones haunting my TBR, but I like the idea of reading the books dominating the conversation while the conversation is occurring." This is a sharp critique of the modern literary ecosystem, where the value of a book is often tied to its immediate relevance rather than its enduring quality. Critics might note that this reliance on hype can be a slippery slope, turning reading into a performance rather than a private engagement, yet Hildreth acknowledges the social utility of shared reading experiences.
We don't really want to exclusively read books we love. I know my own taste well enough, but more to the point, so many excellent books have stood the test of time long enough that I could pick from those and probably be in good book territory for all my reading years to come.
The Value of the "Mid" Book
Perhaps the most provocative claim in the piece is the defense of reading books that are merely "fine." Hildreth posits that a reading life composed entirely of masterpieces would actually diminish the joy of discovery. "I learn so much from reading books that I don't like and I feel like the truly great books reveal their greatness in part due to the contrast between them and the mid books," she argues. This perspective challenges the "sunk cost" mentality often applied to reading, where abandoning a book feels like a waste of time. Instead, Hildreth suggests that the "mid" book serves a functional purpose: it provides the necessary contrast to appreciate the exceptional.
This dynamic mirrors the "halo effect" in psychology, where a positive impression in one area influences opinions in others. Just as a celebrity's attractiveness might bias our judgment of their intelligence, reading a string of mediocre books can make a single great book feel more profound by comparison. Hildreth's willingness to embrace "hate-reading" and "zipping through" forgettable novels is a radical act of self-acceptance in a culture that demands we treat every page as a potential life lesson.
Decoupling Mood from Action
Hildreth also tackles the paralysis of waiting for the "right mood." After a decade in the literary space, she finds the term has lost its meaning, yet the behavior persists. Readers often wait for the perfect context—a quiet afternoon, a specific season, or a particular emotional state—to tackle their most cherished books. "Sometimes we're waiting for the perfect reading context to pick up that book we think we'll love," she observes.
The solution she proposes is not to force the experience, but to curate a visible list of priorities. She suggests setting aside a "mid-sized priority stack somewhere fairly visible" to serve as a reminder of what we truly want to read, distinct from the noise of new releases. This approach aligns with the institutional dynamics of how we manage attention in a distracted world. Just as Senator Mazie Hirono has historically navigated complex legislative landscapes by focusing on specific, tangible outcomes rather than broad, abstract ideals, Hildreth advises readers to focus on the tangible act of choosing one book from the stack rather than the abstract idea of "reading better."
If the issue is more that you're waiting for the right mood or occasion to read your 'good stuff' books, the solution is a little fuzzier. What I do is set aside a mid-sized priority stack somewhere fairly visible.
Bottom Line
Hildreth's argument succeeds in humanizing the reading experience, shifting the focus from optimization to enjoyment. Her strongest point is the validation of the "mid" book as a necessary component of a rich literary diet, a counter-narrative to the pressure of constant self-improvement. The piece's vulnerability lies in its reliance on the reader's ability to self-regulate; without the discipline to actually engage with the "priority stack," the advice risks becoming another form of procrastination. Ultimately, the takeaway is clear: stop saving the good stuff for a perfect moment that may never come, but also stop feeling guilty for saving it for a moment when you truly need it.