I’ll admit it. I’m not exactly an expert on human interaction. I manage to get by fairly well because I’m nice to everyone and cute enough that my lack of social grace comes off as being more charming than embarrassing. But despite being “absolutely freaking adorable” as so many of my peers claim, I’m a bit of a failure in the romantic sphere.
I blame my love of books for this.
You see, it’s not so much that I grew up reading about Mr. Darcy and holding out for his real-life counterpart (I can safely say that I’ve never pined away after a fictional character, though I must admit that liking Mr. Darcy is worlds better than liking a sparkly vampire). It’s more that I’ve been waiting to meet someone who loved reading and writing as much as me. Someone who doesn’t mind my perpetually inky fingers and who appreciates the smell of old books, with their yellowed pages and cracked leather spines. Someone who knows that Frankenstein isn’t the name of the monster but the man who created him, who is aware that the Divine Comedy is loads more than just the Inferno, and will argue with me over the literary merit of the Harry Potter series.
I was thoroughly convinced that nobody like this existed, but I’ve met a lot of boys at my college who at least appreciate literature, if not live it and breath it like I do. But still, even these boys will give me strange looks when I begin to jabber on about how fantastic of a character Raskolnikov is or start quoting Shakespeare in casual conversation.
I suppose I’m just going to have to resign myself to being a spinster for the rest of my life. Only instead of having a dozen cats I’ll have a house bursting at the seams with books.
(Note- I posted this on an old wordpress blog that I’ve since abandoned due to completely forgetting my username and password, so if it looks familiar, don’t worry! I’m not plagiarizing!)
literarygeekery 
If you’re lucky, at least you won’t actually fall in love with a literary character. I did, and it was VERY hard to find a real human who could measure up to him!
That is one of the tragic flaws of being an avid reader- you’re surrounded by all of these wonderful characters and none of them are actually real.
1. I love Mr. Darcy. 2. Harry Potter has more literary merit than any sparkly vampires ever will. 3. Books make better companions than boys anyway.
Yes, yes, and yes!
Given my own penchant for social oddity, I can relate. I wouldn’t say that your love for books isn’t cause for the issue, rather it is a side of you that yearns to dig deeper into literature in a sort of quest to understand and celebrate the many facets of our lives that make us human.
That’s a lovely way to put it.
Books, the best legal narcotic with highs that linger (sometimes years later), with pages filled with some of the greatest make-believe friends that never die and don’t need Facebook media to live on. Though yes, I can relate, my imagination is busier than my social life. Though, I’d still rather dance with Natasha than drop hundreds of dollars on drinks at a deafening club. Both sexes have their share of literary isolationists. I can’t remember the last time I had a literary conversation with someone of the opposite sex.