Do literary tastes change?

I’m assuming so. After all, there are books I read when I was much younger that don’t impress me now. But there are books I read when I was younger that still captivate or, in certain cases, terrify me.

Tastes change. Clothing styles, music, movies, food. A person’s tastes change as they get older or have different life experiences. Why shouldn’t books be the same way?

Recently, I picked up a set of books off of Kindle Unlimited. Romance novels that sounded cute. Cozy romances where someone comes from the big city back to his little hometown to sell…whatever it is and meets and falls in love with the local person who owns a coffee shop/bookstore/cafe.

The first one was a military man who came home to do just that. I made it through 2 chapters. Chapter one had him coming into town, finding a shop that the main female character was in the process of cleaning and invading her space.
Chapter two had him coming up on her after a trauma and kissing her. At this time, I’m not even sure he knows her name or her story. I was already over random military guy taking advantage of a woman he just met for ten minutes the night before. Mind you, these are all my opinions. I am fully aware that Alpha Male/bodice rippers are still very, very popular. For me, I’m not in on this.

The second set of books I bought and promptly returned after reading one chapter was another small town romance that was just so poorly written, I couldn’t finish the book. I understand the need for small sentences. (trust me, as my writing group loves to remind me, I am the queen of the comma) But there comes a time when the sentences are so small, it takes you right out of the book.

Fun with Dick and Jane. 2005.

See Jane walk into town. See Dick trip when he spots Jane. Watch Dick and Jane fall in love.

Can’t do it.

I’m not sure if I should blame the multitudes of Jane Austen variation stories I’ve been devouring on Kindle Unlimited or if my tastes in romance has changed over the years. Don’t get me wrong, I still love a spicy romance. I just prefer my spiciness to be a mutual thing. You give me something with mutual attraction and sexual tension so thick you can cut it with a steak knife until finally they fall into the one bed in the B&B that was available during the freak snow storm and I will devour that like it’s peanut butter and chocolate. You give me an alpha male who just grabs a woman and thinks a no means more and it’s getting tossed out the window.


It not just romances, I’m getting that way with other genres as well. Horror is something I’m finding I’m getting particular about as well. I want to be scared. I don’t want splatterpunk.

I’m reading more crime mysteries as well. I’m here for a good creepy mystery with an unknown bad guy. So long as the bad guy gets caught at the end.

Is anyone else finding that as they get older, their tastes in books are changing? I still have my comfort books, the ones I read over and over again, no matter now cringe they might be. I chalk that up to good writing. Or warm memories.

Well, I’m back to reading my regency romance with a twist (No it’s not a P&P variation). To parts of the country, enjoy the last few days of warmish weather before it starts getting cold once more. Open your windows, grab a blanket, and curl up with a good book.

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