You Are Doing Reading Wrong

I think you might be doing it wrong.

If you’ve been taking surreptitious glances at the book languishing on your nightstand for months, finding every excuse to lurk endlessly on social media instead of diving back in? Ahem. Doing it wrong.

If you’re slogging through chapter after chapter with grim determination? Also, doing it wrong.

Look, it’s an easy trap to fall into. Even booksellers aren’t immune. I just spiraled into a reading slump for over a week (!!!). Why? Because I was trying to read something I just couldn’t get excited about.

But it’s a good book, I kept whispering derisively to myself. It’s up for an award. You are a bookseller, for the love of all that’s holy. Just read the book.

Wasn’t going to happen.

Why? Because I didn’t want to read it. Objectively, I marveled at the sparse beauty of the prose. Without a question, it was a gorgeously wrought book. But it didn’t make me itch to read it to the exclusion of all other things.

And so I stopped reading anything at all.

Apparently, I’d decided to adhere to the rule that I couldn’t start another book until I finished the one I’d already started.

I don’t even believe in that rule.

It’s punitive and saps all the joy out of reading. Makes it a chore. And, besides, I’ve never been really good at doing something just because I was supposed to.

Which is why we have to stop doing reading wrong and, instead, make it a real, vibrant part of our lives. One that gives us joy.

By reading only things we think are “good for us,” we run the risk of becoming non-readers.

As Caleb Crain points out in Why We Don’t Read, Revisited, a lack of reading diminishes our curiosity, our engagement with ideas and experiences that don’t match our own, and our ability to critically reason our way out of dilemmas. These aren’t things we want to lose as a society. They’re not only detrimental to our political process, they’re the foundation of a compassionate, functional society.

So what is there to be done?

First, we need to stop letting lists rule our reading. I love a good NPR book list as much as anyone else. Books shortlisted for the Booker Prize? Definitely. But whether a book hits the criteria for “good”or “important” matters not one whit in the face of whether I like it or not. And the moment a book captures my imagination or curiosity — or not — has little to do with the book itself and more to do with me. Not who I wish I was. Not a future me or a past me. Me as I am right now.

Typically, my reading skews heavily toward contemporary, diverse fiction. I rarely fall head-over-heels for a nonfiction book.

Except for recently.

About 6 months ago, Bookish* launched a Feminist Book Club. Every selection so far has been nonfiction. And it’s been glorious. I’ve felt intellectually energized in a way I haven’t since grad school.

Does this mean that I should only read nonfiction? Nope. Or that nonfiction is “best” for me, because it’s making me feel smart & curious? Again, nope.

You won’t’ find me clamoring after this week’s New York Times Nonfiction Bestsellers list, because I don’t care (okay, I care as a bookseller, but not as a regular person).

I am interested in reading books about feminism and American culture, written by feminists. That’s the extent of my love affair with nonfiction.

I don’t want to read about Ulysses S. Grant*. Or how our nation is moving toward autocracy*. Or even about the Real Housewives*. And so I’m not going to.

It’s admirable when folks want to dive into lists like 100 Must-Read Classics. But it runs counter to the way reading speaks to us and teaches us to plow straight through a list of books (even “good” ones) without slowing down enough to listen to our own inclinations. This is one of the most important tenets of being a lifelong book nerd: if a book doesn’t speak to you, put it down. Do not slog through it. Pick it back up in six months, a year, a decade. Maybe its then that you’ll need precisely what the book has to offer.

Placing a hierarchy on books, prizing “literature” or “important books” over all other kinds of stories, not only discounts a variety of experience but also cuts us off from our own curiosity.

Princeton student, Sreesha Ghosh, offers an excellent takedown of the role of dusty classics written by privileged white folks (yes, even the ones written by women) as detrimental to her development as a reader. When a Princeton student writes an entire essay copping to not doing any leisure reading at all because she’s internalized the message that some books are worthy & others aren’t — and she just can’t get excited about the “worthy” ones — it’s clear something about the way we talk and think about reading has fallen apart.

I talk to customers all the time that tell me they have a stack of self-help books and other various non-fiction on their nightstand that were recommended by (insert politician, pundit, esoteric thinker here) that they aren’t reading, yet they can’t seem to pull themselves out of the non-fiction section. I calmly hand them a thriller* (or maybe a SciFi* or Fantasy* novel. Occasionally a romance*… personality matters here) and send them on their way. Problem solved. Every time.

One of the driving tenets at Bookish is that we do not genre shame. That means that no matter what you come in and ask for, your request will be met with enthusiasm and respect. I’m going to let Ghosh’s analysis on why a wider variety of books should be included in academia shape the discussion about why avoiding genre shaming is important:

“All books have academic worth — there is always something to learn, to glean, to study….To suggest that something is not worth studying is to go against everything that academia is about. And even if there is absolutely nothing to learn (something I don’t think is possible), there is value in enjoyment, value that makes a book as “good” or as “worthy” as those on a syllabus are. We read for enjoyment before we read for anything else and it’s not worth it if we forget that.”

I firmly believe that every story matters (it’s the tagline for Bookish, as a matter of fact). No matter which book a customer picks up, there is something to be explored, something to be discovered. Even if that discovery is simply the joy of reading for pleasure again.

Next time you walk into a bookstore (preferably an indie bookstore), take a deep breath. Then head straight for the section that brings you the most joy. Pick up a book. Read the back — maybe even the first chapter. If you don’t want to put it back on the shelf, would rather sit down right there in the stacks and read, if you actually ponder reading it on the walk to the checkout line, then you are doing it right.

*Affiliate link: All links to Bookish or Bookshop financially support the indie bookstore I own in East Atlanta Village. Hooray!