I was never much of a book club person. While I love reading, one of its greatest pleasures is the way I can immerse myself in the world of a good book, in solitude. Alone. Without any static from the world beyond the story. Book clubs would mean assigned reading, the opinions of others shaping my reading experience, having to socialize, the opposite of solitude. I briefly joined a book club of some work colleagues when I was teaching in rural Illinois, and it was fun, but most of our time was spent gossiping about, well, work. The books were rather secondary, or even tertiary. But I am also a writer, and while reading and writing generally happen in solitude, promoting your writing doesn’t. The first book club I attended as a writer was in Kalamazoo, Mich., where I was invited to a cheery brunch with a local book club while I was on tour for my debut novel, “An Untamed State.” The invitation came from my cousin’s mother-in-law, a vivacious, talkative Michigander who was …