On Reading

Reading will gain us nothing but enchantment of the heart … as we grow accustomed to receiving books in stillness and attentiveness, so we can grow to receive the world, also possessed temporally temporarily … Reading gives context for experience, a myriad of contexts. Not that we know any better what to do when the time comes, but we will not be taken unaware or in a void. 

          Ruined By Reading: A Life in Books 

              -Lynne Sharon Schwartz 

I read quite a bit. What I mean by this is that I read quite a bit of fiction, poetry and literary things. I hardly ever read a newspaper. I’m interested in reading the newspaper, but it almost always comes down to consciously choosing between reading The Columbus Dispatch or the novel I’m halfway through, and I almost always decide to devote my reading time to the novel. Only occasionally do I attack the stack of magazines that gradually build-up on my desk, although, since I subscribe to them and thus directly ask the distributors to send them to me, tossing them unread onto the recycle heap evokes a conflicting sense of liberation and failure. Even though I write this blog and am flattered when someone other than me takes a look at it, I often find it laborious to browse blogs, and I truly only follow two other blogs. The reason? Well, it is the same as why I’m not reading The Columbus Dispatch: when I make time to read, I almost always want to read a book. (Yes, this book is sometimes non-fiction, but it is still a book.) 

To make time to read is an interesting phrase. I have heard many many people say that they would love to read but just do not have the time. I cringe just a bit inside when I hear this. I cringe because even though our culture has told us that reading books is really important, many don’t find it all that much

fun. So this “nice” line has evolved to allow a non-reader both to respect the value of reading and yet excuse him from participating. Strangely, I don’t judge non-readers as bad people. Many, if not most, productive and happy people do not read very much. Even as an English teacher, I try not to sing the song of how reading books is vital. After twenty years in the classroom, reality hits you in the face, and the evidence of successful and brilliant students who do not like to read books is a bit staggering. 

Of course knowing how actually to decipher symbols and create meaning is reading, and this skill is truly vital. Reading poetry and fiction, however, might just be too individual a choice to be lumped in the vital category. Yet, it still bothers me when a person says, “I’d love to read more, but I just do not have the time.” I want us to be honest. I can make time for what I really want to do, can’t I? 

Making this time is something we do constantly. We make time to watch our favorite shows, to follow our favorite sports team, to mow the lawn, to ride our bikes, to seek romance and entertainment, and to work. Sure, occasionally we have an over-committed few weeks and really don’t have time to do what we want, but when we do have time, we do what brings us the most pleasure. For me, that is reading; for many, it is something else. 

But this is not what I set out to write about. I set out to explore why I am so willing to devote hours a day of my precious and short life to sitting alone in a quiet well-lit corner climbing inside a book. Schwartz helps me understand this. By the way, I also am somewhat fanatical about reading books about reading. One of these books is from where the following passage is lifted. This always affirms my choice.

Indeed, what reading teaches, first and foremost, is how to sit still for long periods and confront time head-on. 

I am very good at sitting still for long periods of time and thinking about Time. In fact, I’m going to go do this right now.