The Illiterate, Now Performing Solo (Not That Kind of Solo, Pervert)

Well, gather ‘round, literary goblins, because I bring sad tidings: the original book club, the literal inspiration for this blog, forged in the fires of pretentiousness and half-read novels, has perhaps gasped its last breath, it wheezed a bit, and then face-planted into the void.

Yes, A Literary Adventure with Two Hobos and a Bri has become… I'm not really sure actually what it has become.. The English Major is still technically alive, lurching around with vague yet whole-hearted attempts to revive things like some caffeinated necromancer, but, if I'm being honest, the book club flatlined a while ago. I even tried metaphorical laxatives to get things moving (don’t picture it), but alas, nothing but ghost farts and disappointment.

So here I am. The Illiterate. Alone. Ish.

Do I change the name of the blog to something like The Illiterate’s Solo Play? No. And stop giggling, I already told you it’s not that kind of solo play. For now, the original name stays. out of nostalgia, laziness, and a firm refusal to admit defeat.

But lo! A new beast has risen in the ashes of the old: the Family Book Club. Yes, last year I launched a second group, composed entirely of relatives with varying degrees of commitment, taste, and literacy. Somehow, I’m tied for First Place with my sister-in-law, a woman whose reading stamina is only rivaled by her willingness to mock the rest of our family with me in group texts.

We are united by a sacred bond: petty competitiveness and mild emotional bullying.

The rest of the group? Let’s just say there’s a long line of excuses longer than a George R.R. Martin release cycle. My wife’s was particularly feeble: “I was too cool for The Satanic Verses.” No, my darling. You weren’t. You just quit. And that’s fine. Quitting is a time-honored family tradition, memorialized in our name, and right up there with showing up late and pretending not to see unread messages.

That said, I love this group. It’s my lifeline in these dark times, orange-tinted, climate-apocalyptic, reality-TV-level stupid times. Sure, the group’s roasting skills are a little amateur compared to my professional-grade snark, but they’re trying. And honestly, most of them have thick enough skin to endure my relentless texts. And for those who don’t, looking at you, Mr. Sensitive Painter Man, you’ve got a cute butt, so you’re forgiven.

So, what are we reading right now? Just the sunniest tale ever: Parable of the Sower by Octavia E. Butler. At 40% in, I’ve reached the point where I’m wondering whether there is a danger to my emotional health if I continue. Maybe someone should pre-call in a welfare check to coincide with when I'll likely finish. It’s powerful, it’s well-written, and it’s so bleak it makes The Road look like a Pixar short. I’ll post a full review when I emotionally recover, or at least find a therapist who takes book-related trauma seriously.

Let me just say: the vibe is firmly in the anatomical valley between anus and taint. Not quite hell, but hell-adjacent. Somewhere you definitely don’t want to vacation.

And before I forget, this book group was wise enough to set a reasonable reading pace. One book every two months. Miss the mark? Take a shot. Pick the book and don’t read it? Multiple shots. This is the kind of accountability system that makes America great again. Or at least, buzzed again.

Here are our book club books so far:

Elsewhere in this glittering mess I call my literary life: I’ve set a 2026 Reading Goal of 10,000 pages. Yes, it’s more than double what I managed in 2025. Yes, I’m already planning the failure party. Punishment for failure is still TBD, but rest assured, it’ll definitely be dramatic and probably involve mild self-loathing and tequila.

And then there’s Book Bingo, the cute little side hustle between me and my wife. She’s currently immobilized with a broken ankle, and I, loving husband that I am, have refused to fetch her books from the library. What can I say? Law school turned me into a ruthless legal ghoul. She’s fine. She has Netflix.

Wifey's List

My List

Of course, there's a solid wager involved. But, even this blog isn't bold enough to go there.