"An all too predictable moralism surrounds the reading of books. There is a prescribed way of reading: one page at a time, starting from the front of the book to the back, paying close attention to every single page in order, no skipping around. But the reality is that most of us graze — read a bit, put the book down, start up again. We may pay more attention to one part than another, skim boring parts, and even (heaven forfend) leap over long, dull tracts. Some very strange people even admit to reading the end of a book before the beginning, which is sort of like eating dessert before dinner.
"But let's remember that even one of the greatest readers of literature, Samuel Johnson, admitted that "Paradise Lost is one of the books which the reader admires and puts down, and forgets to take up again. None ever wished it longer than it is." In fact, Johnson seemed to have made quite a career of not reading. He once lamented to his friend Mrs. Thrale, "Alas, Madam! How few books are there of which one can ever possibly arrive at the last page." And reacting to advice that once started, a book should be read all the way through, he opined, "A book may be good for nothing; or there may be only one thing in it worth knowing; are we to read it all through?"
"Is it always a good thing to read an entire book? When I was a graduate student, it dawned on me that I often had the most intelligent things to say about books I'd only half- or quarter-read. I was surprised by my observation — it didn't seem to make sense. But it just seemed to work out that professors preferred my insightful and trenchant comments on, say, the first part of Tristram Shandy than on the whole wandering thing.
"In that way, a little knowledge can be a practical thing."
....
Now I can certainly identify with this article, as I am by my own admission a fitful, decidedly nonlinear reader (which may also explain the way I make books). As an resigned non-academic, unrepentant pseudo-intellectual, and deeply committed dilettante, my reading habits are anything but plodding or methodical; a passage in one book will lead me to abandon the book in my hand and leapfrog into another, creating a trajectory through multiple books, which in a sense creates new composite books in one's mind. I often cannot think of one book without associating it with another--there' grafted onto one another into the strata of my graying neurons.
I tend to gravitate towards non-fiction, in part because I enjoy delving further into the strangeness and beauty of this world, but also because it is amenable to my reading habits (for instance, I am one of those types who reads books backwards, which drives my poor wife to fits of bewilderment). I always try to cover as much ground as I can at the great banquet that our culture affords us, often throwing away the steak and relishing the parsley garnish.
That said, there are books that require close attention to every single line written, namely fiction--but I do find that such works are a greater investment of my time and attention, and so my home library resembles a triage unit: those books holding a few indispensably great themes or ideas, those books offering lots of wonderful yet more modest observations (my favorites lie in this category), and those best used as portals into other states of being that are best left to read while one is bedridden or traveling (largely fiction).
So much to say on the matter: Are we now simply too saturated with cultural stimuli to muster the focus? Is the spirit of our age too nimble and eclectic for something so static as a book? Are our minds simply too undisciplined, too addled with a short attention span to sustain a novel?
How do you read?
