Kimberly Von Randow ’28
Opinions Editor
There was a time not too long ago when being a reader simply meant that you read. You picked up a book on the train, stayed up too late finishing a chapter, read the morning news, or wandered into a bookstore and left with something you had never heard of before without consulting any website for recommendations. Reading existed alongside the rest of your life, not as a separate part of it. It did not necessarily need to be displayed, measured, or explained. Recently, however, I have begun to wonder if reading has become less of a habit and more of an identity.
I just began taking classes abroad in the University of Galway, and in my “Literature in the Digital Age” class, the professor mentioned how her experience in a London bookstore seemed bizarre. She watched various people walk in, look for the most appealing stack of books on a shelf or table, take a photo of it, then leave without buying or browsing. She talked to a bookstore owner about this, who calmly responded that this has been happening with more frequency. I found this report incredibly alarming. Are people more interested in appearing well read rather than truly picking up a book and learning from it?
The incident disturbed me because it represents something much larger than people taking nice pictures in bookstores; Reading has become increasingly visible online and, in a way, is being used to increase social capital. We post our bookshelves, share our monthly reading lists on Goodreads, photograph books alongside our coffee, and announce how many books we have read this year. There is nothing inherently wrong with any of this. In fact, seeing other people excited about books can encourage people to read more. But when reading becomes something to be photographed and presented, it is easy to wonder whether the experience itself is becoming secondary to the image of having the experience. The joy and experience of reading is dried out if it becomes merely a number game to read more per year than the next person. There is no incentive to absorb the information given the quantity-over-quality scenario.
This is especially interesting because reading is, by nature, an incredibly private activity. A book requires time, concentration, imagination, and a willingness to sit quietly with ideas that may challenge us or change our perspective. None of those things make particularly good social media content. A photograph of a beautifully arranged stack of books, however, takes seconds to create and instantly communicates something about the person who posted it: they are intellectual, cultured, curious, or thoughtful. Or at least that’s what they want others to think of them.
Perhaps this is why the idea of being a “reader” can sometimes feel more important than actually reading. In a digital age, books have become a way of constructing an identity, much like music, fashion, or the places we travel. And going analog by reading paper books over the Kindle or listening to vinyls over Spotify can give people a certain impression of you: one that prioritizes a slower life rather than the fast paced stream of information constantly being regurgitated at us through screens. The question, then, is not whether people should share their love of books, but what happens when the performance of reading becomes more important than the reading itself. A shallow identity is then formed, one that concerns itself more with the opinions of others instead of a real dedication to the hobby.
Maybe the most meaningful thing about reading is also the least visible; closing the book, putting down the phone, and letting its ideas change you from the inside out when nobody is watching.
Copy edited by Caroline Gammon ’30
Featured image courtesy of Book Riot
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