As a reader, there are some books I wish I'd never read. They're the books that stick with me, but not in a good way, and haunt me with insights into the human mind that I wish I didn't know. Sometimes, I guess, ignorance is bliss.
I'm not going to tell you the titles, because then you would feel compelled to read them. I don't like knowing the darkness that lives in men's souls. I don't want to feel the depths of human depravity. I don't want to know how low we can go.
There are people who live that horror every day, people who are trapped by misfortune, geography, culture, economics, or their own sense of helplessness. I know this. But I don't want to read about it. I don't want to invite it into my brain, where it will linger forever.
Call me silly or superficial, if you like. I don't mind. I know it's out there. I do what I can to avoid it. You can't blame me for that, and you shouldn't condemn me for wishing I'd never read about it.