Learning to read

Untricking and tricking myself

Ten years ago, more or less, I realized that I had forgotten how to read. This was an embarrassing surprise, for a number of reasons.

First, I had loved books since I was a little kid, devouring some of the big classics before they were ever assigned in class, and always wondered if I could become a writer. Second, I was actually a writer. I was working as a journalist, producing newspaper reports about South America rather than weighty tomes, but it was my business to know things and produce language. And third, I was having lunch with a colleague who put me in touch with literary agents in New York, who was helping to see if maybe I could write a book of my own.

He asked what books I had liked recently, and I had to admit to myself (and to him) that I had basically stopped reading them. Scrambling, I came up with a bunch of excuses. Of course I was reading other things; I was constantly ingesting all kinds of journalistic content, in several languages. Sometimes I was reading long magazine articles. But that was all nonsense. Obviously, what had really happened is that the internet scrambled my brain and made me unable to pay attention to anything much longer than a tweet.

I wanted to be very intentional about fixing this. I decided that I would read at least one book a month. And I set up a Google Doc, where I would make a list of every book I finish. It is subdivided by years, and by months, and I keep it updated every time I complete a new volume. Obviously this was a crude kind of “gamification,” an employment of the actually existing internet’s tools against myself. But I also made sure to get away from it. That was not hard. I would just take a physical book, or maybe a tablet, to a café or library or a park bench for an hour or two. I left my phone at home, and did not connect the tablet to any wi-fi network. I found this very rewarding, and incredibly easy. Very quickly I doubled the goal.

(Now, I make sure to read four books a month at least, though this can go up if I am doing full-time research, or down if I am working hard on something else like interviews, or writing. But I reckon that is pretty high for a person who is not lucky enough to read and write for a living. This is not a self-help post - I think ? - but my instinct is that one book a month is very respectable and achievable for someone with a normal job, and twelve books a year is really significant. Personally I was amazed how much I could get done by carving out an hour here and there, and how quickly I re-connected with a world of knowledge and mode of thinking I had lost entirely, so I immediately wanted more.)

I am still adding to the list. I admit that I remain somehow trapped in the arbitrary logic of the digital system I created. I might find that it is the end of the month and I am “behind,” so I read more furiously to avoid leaving a given month incomplete, which is not exactly ideal. But I also find the actual list to be very useful. I can look back over nine years and remember what I learned, or what I want to re-read, or which book I loved so much that I need to have a physical copy on the shelf. (I also take notes on every book, and then transcribe them into the cloud a few weeks later, as a way to build a kind of double memory system — but that’s probably not too relevant here). At the bottom of the doc I list books I want to read in the future.

I treat my phone as if it is infused with black magic, as if it contains demonic forces which leap out and destroy any life force that comes near it. I act this way because it is literally true. Thousands upon thousands of years of human scientific progress, mountains of capital accumulated over centuries of brutal accumulation, and the world’s most brilliant living minds have all conspired to make this thing capable of tricking and cajoling and flattering and insulting you to get your attention for as long as possible, so that you will cast your eyes over as much advertising content as your body can take. Sometimes you must wrestle with these demons, but you are also allowed to walk away from the battle.

I never bring my phone into my bedroom under any circumstances. I never pretend that I am going to get some reading done with a cellular device on my person. Those people that arrive at a coffee shop, and then place a phone and a book together on the table, are trying to beat Satan in a game that he has devised. It might be possible to win, but I have never seen it done. They are scrolling within a minute.

I don’t read anything on my laptop. I might skim an article quickly to get the gist, but that’s not reading. I may download the FT and a bunch of PDFs onto a tablet, and take it with me for the time I set aside for reading, and for reading alone. After a few minutes (physically) away from the internet, I find I can think again. I like to do this in the morning. But anyways, that’s just me. I thought that story might be interesting.