As someone who consumes lots of stories in multiple formats, I have trouble deciding on which is my favorite. If you ask me who my favorite actors are, I have an answer: Nia Long and Robert DeNiro. My favorite TV show, again I can give you a list. However, when it comes to stories and books, it depends on my mood, age, current events, a number of factors can spoil or enhance my experience of a story.

When I was in my twenties, I loved The Pleasure of My Own Company by Steve Martin and The Coldest Winter Ever by Sistah Souljah. Over the years, my love for those stories has waned, and the latter novel transformed into an intolerable read. and that is the power of stories.

Once I like a book, I tend to like it always. At least, that is usually the case. Especially my reading taste as an adult. I can’t think of a book that I liked previously that I no longer like. Even when it comes to book influencers, I know immediately if one’s taste will allign with mine after experiencing a few of their recs.

When I was in high school–I’ll even date myself by admitting that this is when you went to a bookstore or library to hunt for your next read–I would always judge a book by it’s cover. If the cover didn’t interest me, I didn’t pick it up. Can you blame me? We didn’t have much to go on in those days.

One day I was carousing my local library, looking for my next read, when I came across, Auntie Mame by Patrick Dennis. It was published in 1955. I’m sure it went through a number of cover changes since then. This is the cover I came across.

My teenage self was not impressed with this cover still, I decided to challenge myself to reading a book whose cover I normally would pass on. To my surprise, I enjoyed this story. I loved the vibrant array of characters, especially the relationship between the nephew and his aunt. I also loved the vocabulary in this novel.

During my high school years, I used to keep index cards full of words I learned in school, conversations, etc. This book taught me so many new words; that is one of the reasons that kept me engaged. The way the characters spoke was unfamiliar to me. This could also be attributed to the period it was written in.

After reading this book, for many years, I counted this as my favorite book. Don’t ask me when’s the last time I read it. So now I question whether it should still call it my favorite book. If I replace it with another story, I don’t have a contender in mind.

Which brings me to my next question: why do I have to choose one book as my favorite? When people ask me this question, I feel put on the spot. I should know the answer but don’t have a singular one.

Conversely, is it wrong to be a lover of stories and not have a favorite one? Maybe I should consider a top five or three, but favorite one is asking too much of me.

If you asked me today, what my favorite book is, I would probably give you a rundown of my favorite recent reads. The ones that are on my mind and easy to retrieve mentally; but those are like a carousel shelf, with interchangeable books that have no permanent shelf space.

If you asked me what my favorite books were ten years ago, I haven’t changed from Auntie Mame. Only now do I question that answer. No one book has stayed with me the way that book has.

However, there have been books that I enjoyed over the years, which I remember more than others. I don’t like fantasy novels as much, yet I fell in love with the debut novel, Skin of the Sea from Natasha Bowen. A black mermaid, exploring young love while somewhat tortured by obligations to her family and heritage was rich in this story.

I also love a good romance novel every now and then. When I read The Rules of Arrangement, the debut novel by Anisha Bhatia, I was enamored by the protagonist and her story. I had not read a story that touched on colorism, while maintaining a sense of humor and realistic romance ever. This is one of my goto novels when I want something that will make me laugh, ponder, and smile for different reasons.

But then again, I read Kristen Harmel’s book The Stolen Life of Colette Marceau a few years ago and again, it stays with me. An octogenerian recounting her life as a jewelry thief for altruistic reasons was refreshing and predictable, once you learn the protagonist background. And that tends to be the ingredients for unforgettable stories that I fall in love with.

Some stories are more potent than others and stay with you long after you read them. Forgive me, but I don’t think I can ever narrow it down to one being my favorite these days.