As the bureaucratic parts of my English Major (the comprehensive exam and Senior Seminar term paper) draw to a close, I’ve been reflecting on what it is I like about literature, and what it means to me to enjoy reading. I’ll be graduating in December, and it’s strange to see the end in sight of the kind of intense, academically focused reading that’s been my realm of study for the last four years. Well, strange and bittersweet, but also freeing in a way, because there will be more room in my life for pleasure reading.
Reading for fun is really the bedrock of my relationship to literature and books. I learned to read at an early age from Calvin and Hobbes comics (foreshadowing my going to Kenyon—thanks, Bill Watterson), and right away stories became my “thing.” I always had my nose in a book or a magazine like Cricket, and every library I visited became my favorite place. I was a shy child, and stories allowed me to enter the lives and adopt the mindsets of courageous and extraordinary people and have adventures I would never have in real life. Books were my refuge during troubling times, and reading was a headspace I knew I could enter and feel safe.
As I got older and entered middle and high school, the reading in school became more intense, but also more rewarding. Whenever I learned something new about formal elements of literature, or read the work of a literary genius like Shakespeare for the first time, I felt my place in the world click. Reading was still pleasurable, and English was always my favorite class. However, as high school went on, I noticed that I wasn’t reading as much outside of class because I just didn’t have enough time between homework and sports and other activities.
In college, that trend only got more pronounced. I had more free time during the day, but classes were much more intense and assigned much more reading and work. Being an English Major and History Minor has meant that I sometimes have hundreds of pages to read every week, if not every day. Now, I’m not trying to complain; I really do love what I study, and if I hated the work I need to put in, I would have switched majors ages ago.
However, reading hundreds of pages a week for school is simply not the same as reading hundreds of pages a week for fun.
When I read for fun, for the simple pleasure of having words enter my brain and become stories through some mysterious magic, I don’t place any expectation on myself to look for themes or to try and remember as much of the plot as possible. When I read for class I know I’m reading with a purpose in mind—sometimes the professor wants us to look for certain themes, and sometimes the theme of the class is something specific that automatically puts a lens on what we read. It’s not that this way of reading is bad, it’s just that homework is, well, work, and work is never quite as fun as something you do only because you enjoy it.
During the school year I often don’t want to read when I do have extra time, because I’ve already been reading so much for class. This can translate into watching TV shows or just browsing the internet, and those can be a valuable use of time, but there’s still something missing.
I know that as I get older and have more responsibilities, I’ll have less and less time to read for myself, but I want to make time. Right now I can think of at least four books I have waiting on my shelf—Swing Time, Wide Sargasso Sea, The Watchmaker of Filigree Street, and The Handmaid’s Tale—and I know I should avoid bookstores because I can’t seem to leave one without picking something up.
When I do have time to read for fun, my ideal reading situation is immersing myself for a long chunk of time because I like to sink into the narration and kind of meld my mind with the story and the characters. I’ll take anything, however, because reading is honestly one of my favorite things to do, and I want to do it as often as I can.
Image Credit: Featured Image, 1, 2, 3