I read this paean to book clubs with the same sense of dismay I get from so many other prerequisites of socially preferred contemporary life. Nothing against them - I know some people enjoy book club discussion immensely, and more power to em - but its just not my cup o joe. The author here suggests that the experience of reading is enhanced when its communal, that the social rituals of gathering and discussing give extra meaning and purpose to a book that solitary readers miss. Perhaps its my essentially introverted nature. Or maybe its plain, glaring misanthropy, but reading, to me, is a thoroughly selfish and intensely personal activity. Its private: I read a while before getting out of bed in the morning; I read before I go to sleep; I read when I have a few spare minutes during the day. I listen to audio books when Im alone in the car. Its a big part of my life, and I dont want to have to feel defensive or competitive about it. I dont want to have to explain my choices (binge re-reading childhood favorites; obscure travel books about places I dont want to go; sudden impulse reads about Balkan history or trends in restaurant architecture) or have to explain to somebody why I loathed the book they adored. In the era of compulsory sharing (which I am doing right now, Ill concede), reading, for me, is wonderfully private. If you ask me what Im reading, Ill be happy to tell you. If you ask me what its about, Ill try to fumble up an answer. If you get me a bewildered look and ask why in the world are you reading that, youll probably just get a shrug and a dopey look.
Posted on: Tue, 25 Mar 2014 13:10:19 +0000
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