It struck me as rather odd. Clearly extroverted, I would normally struggle to go more than a few hours on my own without craving human interaction. So, when I left my highly-social occupation, combined with lockdown after lockdown and starting a new business as a solo free-lancer, surely this was a recipe for disaster. Yet it hasn’t been. I have become surprisingly comfortable spending time on my own, at times even delighting in it. So, what’s going on?
I have always read, but I wouldn’t describe myself as an avid reader. I was probably a ten books a year kind of guy. During lockdown, upon the recommendation of a friend, I undertook the ‘Read to Lead’ challenge by the Daily Stoic. It had a profound impact on me; one that I didn’t anticipate. There are plenty of compelling arguments to invest more time in reading, but the biggest take away for me is this; reading is a conversation, and to that end, inherently social. No wonder I’ve not been going mad! I’ve been nattering away with countless authors, across multiple topics and genres, with meaningful conversations and thoughts so considered that every sentence packs a punch.
It seems unfair then that readers are sometimes seen, especially when we’re young, as anti-social; that the act itself is insular and lonesome. Images of the lonely, friendless child sitting in the corner of the playground reading are, I think, just inherently wrong. They’re probably having an absolutely cracking conversation.
The read to lead challenge, whilst inspirational, requires a significant commitment of time. If you’re not willing, or simply can’t offer that time right now, but you crave good company and you’re willing to entertain the idea that perhaps that company could, from time to time, be found in a book, then here are a few thoughts that reframe reading as something inherently interactional, social, reflective and soul-enriching.
Firstly, let’s set on thing straight. I’ve already led you astray with a poor metric; a ‘ten books a year’ kind of guy? As if the number of books is the marker to move? Allow me to offer a metaphor. You’re at a party, being especially gregarious, seeking to engage with absoultely everyone there. How many true human connections are you likely to make? Odds are, your interactions were cursory, superficial and swiftly forgotten. Instead, how might it feel to really connect with one or two people? That sounds like an interaction that is likely to lead to a genuine connection and potentially a lasting friendship. So it is with reading. By all means read the first few pages and then move on, but read them deeply. Read them slowly. Read deep and slow, not fast and wide. Read with the most attention and consideration you can muster. If some words move you, or you enjoy a turn of phrase, read on and commit. If not, move on. The kind of commitment we’re talking about here requires that you truly enjoy the conversation, so please don’t feel you have to complete the book because of some supposed duty. You’re more likely to end up fostering a hatred for reading. You are not duty bound to connect with everyone at the party. Mingle with intent until the powerful connections find you!
don’t feel you have to complete the book because of some supposed duty. You’re more likely to end up fostering a hatred for reading
Behind every book is an author (and co-authors, and editors, and other contributors, but first and foremost, there is the author), and this author is a human being (at least for the time being, future AI implications accepted). I used to skip past the forewords, preface and acknowledgements, hungry to get to ‘the good bit’. At best, I might read the back cover, but I’ve come to realise that this is misguided. You wouldn’t walk up to someone at a party and introduce yourself with, “What are you views on the current political turbulence in…”. I mean, you might (and I’m starting to wonder if I ever have) but it’s a bit weird, right? First there’s a little ‘getting to know’ time. So it is with books, and I’ll dare to take it further than the foreword, preface and acknowledgements. Actually taking the time to jump on wikipedia and find out a little more about the author can offer you a rich setting within which to frame their words. Knowing a little more about who they are invariably leads to a richer conversation down the line. So, demonstrate that genuine sense of interest in them. If you’re a fantasy fan, or even if you’re not but you choose to read Lord of the Rings (as everyone should), knowing just a little about the world Tolkien grew up in, and the life he lived, completely changes how you read the book, with his not-so-subtle references to war, the good life and the industrial revolution absolutely rife.
I never read without a pen, and ideally a highlighter, to hand. That means I now have pens and highlighters littered around the house. If you’re going to have a conversation with a book, you need to take the time to debate, argue and critique. Your thoughts need to be captured. In capturing them, you truly offer time and respect to your own reflections as well as the words that drove them. Some people are shocked by the idea of writing ‘maginalia’ in books, but the suggestion is that we’re not giving the author the respect they deserve if we don’t. Yes, it means we can’t really loan that book to another, but that’s OK. There are worse things for others to spend their hard-earned cash on. Given the hours that go into the creation of a good book, and accepting the host of 2nd-hand sites that offer books for bargain prices, I don’t think it’s much of a sacrifice to make. Besides, your gift is your informed recommendation, which took a lot of time to form.
If you’re going to have a conversation with a book, you need to take the time to debate, argue and critique.
But there’s another reason why you shouldn’t loan books you’ve read deeply, besides the potential for embarrassment from personal conversations littered throughout the margins. Like old friends, good books are worth going back to. If you’ve never reread a book that you’ve read deeply and scrawled all over, I can’t recommend it highly enough. The reality is, we’re never the same person from one moment to the next. We eb and flow with the passing of time, and so does the lens through which we perceive the world. Coming back to a book and rereading it is like visiting an old friend you haven’t seen in years. What’s more, rereading all the marginalia is like flicking through old photos of you both together, only better, because you’ve captured the thoughts and feelings of the moment too. Invariably, you won’t have the same conversation over and over again. The conversations will be entirely new, and so it is with books. You are not the same person you were when you first read and wrote, and so your thoughts are likely to go in entirely new directions. How exciting!
As a twist, and to reassure my friends and family, and probably my mum who is now panicking as she reads this, I don’t think that all the conversations we should be having are to be found in books. Indeed, I'm often reminded how so much in life can only be learned through doing and being with others. So much has to be experienced, engaging face to face with humanity in the moment. But that accepted, a lot of inspirational conversations are there for the taking, experienced through the pages we read (and hopefully write on), provided we give them the time and energy, and respect so many of them deserve.
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