Reading Habits

A Skimmer or a Deep Reader?

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A young girl intently reading.
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NPR recently posted an article titled How to Practice ‘Deep Reading.’ It’s a great interview available in both print and streaming audio. For any of us dedicated to what I like to call “the art of reading,” this is worthy of our intention.

One of the observations was that we were not pre-wired for reading–that for all of us, this is a learned skill, and like any learned skill, we have the opportunity to keep learning. It also suggests why reading doesn’t always come naturally for us. Neither does typing, playing a musical instrument, or painting. But we can develop our proficiency as we practice.

The interview explores the idea of deep reading, where we fully engage what is written with our thoughts, our questions, reflections, and even emotions–what does this evoke in me? In fact, reading with affect is one of the ways books become imprinted in our minds. I think this so true–whether I rhapsodized over the writing or an exceptional plot, didn’t like an ending, or got angry with an argument–those are the books I remember.

The article contrasts deep reading with the practice of skimming. And this caught me up short. I skim a lot of material–articles for posting, emails, and to be honest, some books, at least to a certain degree. I suspect many of you do as well. Since I read many books, an occupational hazard of a reviewer, I read books where people cover ground I’ve seen others cover before. I’m looking for what they bring to the conversation that is new.

What catches me up short is not that I do it, but seeing how doing it affects all my reading. This has been brought home to me recently by reading A Secular Age by Charles Taylor along with a friend. It is a long, dense but elegantly written book reflecting a great mind tracing an intellectual history spanning centuries and dozens of thinkers in several languages. I was trying to read 20 pages a day, and found it difficult to absorb. My friend told me, “I can only do 10 pages at a time, and I have to go back and re-read the 10 pages.”

I’ve decided that this book is my primer in deep reading. One of Taylor’s sentences often provides ample fodder for thought. I’m going to allow him to teach me to take the time to read him well and not read just to get the gist. And this practice is suggesting a rule worth applying to other things–if I only have a vague notion of what this book is saying or how this story is put together, I’m probably reading too fast.

The interview also suggests some form of note-taking helps us absorb and keep track of the flow of an argument and the things we remember. I don’t like to write in my books because I will re-sell many, and I don’t like slowing down to write in a journal. One suggestion from the article I might try is jotting down (maybe on a slip of paper) in the back of a book) page numbers of key thoughts, maybe with a key word or phrase. I’d love to hear how other note-takers do it.

Taylor will keep me busy for a while, so this will give me a good opportunity to practice deep reading. Perhaps after that, I may try to have at least one book where I follow a suggestion from the interview to “read at your own pace and the book’s pace.” Actually, it’s pretty exciting to be approaching my eighth decade and still be learning to read!

How Many Books Are You Currently Reading?

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At the moment? Seven in my case. Two are for book clubs of which I’m a part. Then I usually have at least two religious books I read, because I receive a lot of these for review. Then there is one on my Kindle, which is handy to read at breakfast and bed time. I have another that alternates between fiction and non-fiction. Finally, I have a book I can read in short snatches–often essays or poetry or something with short chapters.

I think personally that I have to take breaks from a book rather than read straight through. When I come back, my interest is renewed. I also have an interesting thing happen sometimes where it feels like my books are talking to each other–sometimes literally when one author mentions another, as is the case with the two books I’m reading for book clubs currently.

Some of this is shaped by interest and time of day, and some is shaped by my involvement in reviewing books. I find that I generally finish and am able to review four or five books most weeks (today is the rare exception when I didn’t have a book ready for review).

I posted a variation on this question on social media and was fascinated by the differences among reasons in this regard and the reasons for those differences. There is a group of people who like to read just one book at a time. For many of these people, reading more than one book at a time gets confusing. One person wrote, “I greatly prefer one book at a time. I’m confused enough by single books, and I can’t imagine trying to keep track of multiple plots, different genres simultaneously, etc.” The flip side of this is that some people choose books they can immerse themselves in and they just want to see how it all turns out without distraction. A person commented that you don’t watch two movies in different rooms at the same time (I personally suspect that there are some who try but I also think movies are different).

The picture seems to be more complicated for those reading multiple books at a time. Some are like me–they like the change. One person proposed that “A change is as good as rest.” They felt they could read more at a sitting if they switched off. Others mentioned getting into the habit of reading multiple books during their school years and never got out of it. For some, it is a question of the time of the day–more challenging material when one is fresh, more engaging or exciting material when they are tired and so they have different books for different times of the day. Some also read in different media–a printed book during a quiet moment at home, an audiobook while driving or working, an e-reader while commuting if not driving or on vacation or in bed. Others like to have a different book in different rooms in their homes to have a book available anywhere. One person reads multiple books because “I don’t have the self-control to finish one before starting another. I get too excited to see what the books have to say.”

I honestly don’t think there is a “right” answer to this question. In this as in other aspects of reading, I go with the axiom, read as you can, not as you can’t. Attention and memory seem to be two key aspects. For some, attention wanes if they go on and on in one book without a break; while for others, a book’s not worth reading if they cannot immerse themselves in it–perhaps reading all night to finish it. Some seem to have no problem remembering the plot or key ideas of multiple books while others can’t keep multiple books straight in their minds. We’re all wired differently, and the best thing we can do is understand what works for us.

Bottom line? It’s not a competition, no matter how many reading challenges are out there. You do you.

On Reading: Shoes On or Shoes Off?

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It’s not one of those things that will shape the future of reading, the next best seller, or decide the question of e-books versus paper books (a silly argument, I think). But I discovered recently that most people have a decided preference for whether they read with their shoes on or off. And for the vast majority, if the readers at the Bob on Books Facebook page are any indicator, we like to read with our shoes off, if at all possible (and some of us would live that way if we could!).

I suppose that it just makes sense. We all came without shoes in the beginning. Remember one of the favorite game of little ones? Taking off shoes. I never knew a little one whose favorite game was putting on shoes. As long as it is comfortable, we like the feeling of our feet being free! Shoes basically came into existence for protection, from both sharp objects and the cold, and in battle, enemy weaponry. Leather shoes have been found dating back to 3500 BC–most moccasin-like affairs. Then someone got the sense of shoes as not merely functional but decorative, and likely less comfortable. We wanted to get those things off as soon as we could.

So what does all this have to do with shoes and reading? And why are we even talking about it. It all came of seeing an art image of a young woman reading on a veranda, barefoot. It looked so comfortable, particularly coming, as I do, from “shoes on” people. So I asked about it, and found that I’m in the minority. For some, it is just part of a household, “shoes off” etiquette. Most of my reading friends, unless they are in a public indoor place where footwear is required, prefer reading barefoot (and I suspect even in some places, like coffee shops, they surreptitiously slip those shoes off under the table.

I suspect that this connects to the fact that reading, even for understanding, is most often a leisure activity. We try to find a comfortable chair, or even a soft patch of ground under a tree on a summer day, with a drink nearby, and perhaps a beloved pet. Many of us like to put our feet up, on a hassock or footrest, or even stretched out on a sofa. Somehow, when our feet can breathe, the rest of us follows.

The ultimate, though, is reading in bed, a favorite reading spot for many readers. One doesn’t even think of wearing shoes there. And perhaps that logic works backward to other reading locations.

Some are hybrid readers when it come to the shoes on/shoes off choice. I’m like that. Early in the morning and after the day’s work is done, I’m shoes off. At other times, I’m usually reading with shoes on. For some, it is seasonal–summer is shoes off, cooler weather is socks, and maybe lined slippers in the winter. Some people just have cold feet, usually someone to whom you are married, and they usually don socks or slippers.

What this all reminds me of is that reading is an immersive embodied experience. It isn’t simply eyes reading words off a page and trying to make sense of them in our brains. It is lighting, and comfortable seating, perhaps a chair side table for beverages, reading glasses, and maybe a dictionary or commonplace book. It has to do with the comforts of body which often convey ease to the soul as we become absorbed in a good story. It stands to reason that these comforts extend to our clothes and even the shedding of shoes. And that’s OK–take off your shoes and set a spell,” as they say.

Review: The Pleasures of Reading in an Age of Distraction

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The Pleasures of Reading in an Age of Distraction, Alan Jacobs. New York: Oxford University Press, 2011.

Summary: An argument that we should read what we delight in rather than what others think is “good” for us.

Alan Jacobs is not among the prophets of reading doom. He believes we should actually read what we want to rather than following prescribed lists of “great” books that we ought to read. He argues that the most important reason for reading is that it is pleasurable rather than it being “good” for us:

“So this is what I say to my petitioners: for heaven’ sake, don’t turn reading into the intellectual equivalent of eating organic greens, (or shifting the metaphor slightly) some fearfully disciplined appointment with an elliptical trainer of the mind in which you count words or pages the way some people fix their attention on the ‘calories burned’ readout…” (p. 17).

He proposes that we read “at whim,” that is, we read books when we are ready for them. That doesn’t mean we don’t read the great books. It means we don’t read them too soon. He also suggests that when we find works we like and wonder what else to read, that rather than reading books inspired by those books, we read upstream–that is, we read the books that preceded and inspired them. If we liked Tolkien, we should read Beowulf, a recommendation I agree with, especially if it is Seamus Heaney’s rendering! Now a more challenging one is his suggestion that, if we like Jane Austen, we read Hume, as many of her ideas come from him–but only under the sign of Whim.

Jacobs argues that one of the pleasures of reading is responding to the author and he describes the ways readers annotate their works and the value of this (he uses a mechanical pencil for precise underlines and sharpness of notes). Against those who worry that this will slow them down, he challenges the cult of page and book counts, contending that it is what, and not how much we read, that matters. He argues that many books become more boring the faster we read them, and that we ought to allow ourselves time to re-read, because we often miss much in our first readings.

Against those who complain of diminishing attention in an internet age, Jacobs contends that the thing that helped him most was getting a Kindle–it kept him reading, it promoted linearity, and allowed him to concentrate for a long time. Unlike reading on a computer or tablet, there are no notifications and no distractions or temptation to multi-task.

This takes Jacobs into a discussion of attentiveness and he introduces us to Hugh of St. Victor and the counsel of the Didascalion. He advises reading what we can, moving step by step, first cogitating and then meditating on the text, ruminating on it as a ruminant does its food. He contends that we need both the skills of skimming and deep and long attention, depending on the material and our reasons for engaging it.

Against those who want to turn libraries into chat-filled cafes, he argues that silence is often difficult to find, especially for the impoverished, who cannot afford the space. Libraries, or at least reading rooms, can be a place to preserve that. Against the contention that reading is solitary, he observes all the interactive possibilities from our engagement with the author to classrooms to book groups.

He concludes where he began, with the idea of serendip. Very little of our reading journey may be planned, though it may be cultivated, whether through Amazon recommendations, or the discoveries on the shelves of a bookstore or library. While pleasurable reading involves attention and the elimination of distraction, it should not be shaped by the shame or guilt of what one should read.

Like the author, I’ve been tempted at points by reading plans, and still wrestle, as a reviewer, with reading too fast, sometimes robbing myself of the enjoyment of a book. I no longer worry about reading plans, and usually have one book going that I just read for enjoyment. This was one such book, and I would recommend it for any who remember loving books, but for one reason or another struggle to read or get caught up in the tyranny of “should.”

Why I Read

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Last week I wrote about reading and religion, which I could also have titled “reading as religion,” which I believe it to be for some people. Some may think that is so for me. While I would maintain that is not so, I’ll leave that judgment up to God and others. I’m too close to the subject. Quite simply, I do love reading.

In searching through the nearly eight years of posts on this blog, I’ve never directly talked about why I read. I’ve certainly touched on it or talked around it, but never directly spoken of why I read. Maybe it is like trying to answer why we love a person. We can give reasons, but then we realize we love someone apart from all those reasons. At our best, we love just because….

If you pressed me though, I could express some of the reasons why I read. I suspect there is more to it than what I write, as other bibliophiles will probably agree.

I love stories. I suspect for most of us, reading started with a love for stories, and that reading was a way to take in a story when there was no one to whom we could say, “tell me a story.” As we grow older, we think of our lives as a story, and perhaps a part of a larger story. Sometimes, reading serves to help me understand the story within which I live, and maybe how I might live within that story. I find that when I read the Bible, but also when I read fiction like Lord of the Rings or All the Light We Cannot See.

I read to understand the world. I love science writing that helps me understand the wonderful world I live in. Even gardening or home repair books can be interesting when I am trying to figure out how best to grow something or fix something. History helps me understand how we got here. Sometimes it is more indirect. It could be the history that led to a particular part of the world being the way it is today. History helps me understand the news–to set it in a bigger context.

Reading stretches and changes the way I view the world. I have a certain way of seeing things. All of us do. And because we are limited, so is my way of seeing the world. I will never be omniscient. The most I can hope for is to cultivate the mental flexibility and empathy to grasp how another might see the world differently, or even imagine a world unlike our own.

Reading also makes sense of my inner world. Perhaps it is a spiritual work that gives words to longings or perplexities. Sometimes a biography reveals a character of courage or grace I want to be more like. Sometimes a work of psychological insight reveals why I can be my own worst enemy.

I read to keep company with great thinkers, some who I’ll never have a chance to meet because they were dead before I was ever born. What a wonder that before recording technology, people wrote down their ideas, sometimes refining them in the process, and preserving them in books. Then there are some I’ve met or heard speak and was so intrigued by their ideas that I want to take a deep dive into them, deeper than a lecture or casual discussion.

When I read, I can travel the world without leaving home, a great advantage during a pandemic! If nothing else, I can appreciate how many different ways people approach this thing of making a life.

Then there are the times when I simply want to lose myself in a book. The detective fiction of Louise Penny has gotten me through the pandemic. Instead of all the fears a pandemic could summon, I could imagine for a few hours what it would be like to live in Three Pines. Or in Thomas Hardy’s Wessex. Or Lothlorien.

Ever since I learned to read, I’ve loved to read. If nothing else, it is a habit. At this point asking me why I read is like asking why I breathe or eat or sleep. It is that much a part of life. There are a number of other associated delightful habits–reading reviews, browsing book sites, wandering around bookstores and book sales, visiting libraries, or even just organizing my TBR pile.

I love that reading is both solitary and social. There are the quiet moments along with a great story or a new insight. Then there are book discussions with others who love the same things, and sometimes help me understand what still perplexes me.

Books and reading are a cultural good worth preserving (one of the objects of this blog!). Like other readers, the one thing that most baffles me is, why people don’t read. But why do I read? It’s all of the above, and yet there’s something beyond that I can’t fully explain. I guess I read just because…

Reading as a Competitive Sport

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Jamie Canaves published an article today on BookRiot on “Calling a Time-Out on Reading for Sport” She speaks of tracking books read, page counts, planning your next book before finishing the one you are in, frenetic reading in the spare moments, and not reading fat books when you can read a couple thin ones.

Does any of this sound familiar? It does to me. I have a Goodreads Challenge, I do watch page counts (and have used my librarian privilege on Goodreads to add them when the publisher leaves them out!), and because I review books do think ahead about what I’m going to read. I think twice before leaning into a long book. Some of this is fun. It didn’t bother me that my reading numbers were down in 2020. After all, it was 2020. My reading challenge usually is at least 25 percent less than what I read the previous year.

I sense a certain uneasiness of readers about reading under pressure. I asked recently about how people who had set reading goals felt they were doing. I shared mine, which weren’t numerical, but about kinds of books I wanted to read to get out of my own “reading ruts.” Most of the responses I received were a pushback about numbers and simply reading for enjoyment and moving from book to book serendipitously.

Where the article hits me is that I do recognize that reading has changed for me. Some time ago, I knew someone who started making some stained glass items for a few friends, and this suddenly turned into more, and a hobby became a job. That’s what has happened with reviewing and blogging on books. While I still enjoy it, especially when I can put on some good music with a good beverage at my side, reading often seems a bit more like work. I’m aware of the pile awaiting review as well as books I’ve purchased that I wanted to read. I’m thinking about what books I’ll finish for review in the coming week. And I spend time keeping track of and requesting books that I think will be interesting to review. Some of the books I read are for work–I interview authors as part of my job, usually about a dozen a year. Other books I read, I choose for their relevance not only for me but for work colleagues

In fact, if there is anything that would bring reviewing and blogging to an end, other than a health crisis, this would be it. And that is a warning signal. Maybe I need to listen to the BookRiot writer. I want others to know the joys of a good book. If I lose that, I suspect it will come across in my reviews. It may be time to revisit the old books I’ve wanted to re-read but have deferred because of the new ones awaiting. Maybe I just have to admit that I cannot read all those new books people are buzzing about. It may be a matter of reading when, and at a pace that keeps it enjoyable. At some point, I may need to scale back the blog from six days to three or four. I’m not there yet.

I do believe reading should enrich our lives. When it doesn’t, something has gone awry. It could be pressures we feel from others or ones we place on ourselves. I appreciate the friends who push back about reading goals. I suspect most of us have enough of these in the rest of life. Sometimes we just need to lose ourselves in a book. At other times, we may read something with such challenging ideas that we need to read slowly and reflectively. As Mortimer Adler put it, “In the case of good books, the point is not to see how many of them you can get through, but rather how many can get through to you.”