Why I Am Reading This

If two people are situated in a room next to each other, and one of them is reading, social norms dictate that the non-reader must ask the reader a series of questions about the book, just as you might converse about the weather or ask about the health of one’s parents. The first question is easily asked and easily answered. “What book is that?” The non-reader will perhaps crane their neck to read the print along the top of the page, of perhaps grab hold of the book and turn it slightly so as to catch a glimpse of the cover. The second question is “What’s it about?” If I were playing the role of reader, it would seem to me that you had just asked for me to define ‘the’ and ‘it’ without using the letter e. But I will nevertheless give it my best shot and try to compress thousands of words into a brief statement that invariably makes the book seem exciting, or boring, or mushy, or hipstery, or just weird. At this point, the non-reader, having fulfilled their social duty, will likely turn back and leave the reader to continue their reading; however, they may choose to ask the dangerous third question: “Why are you reading that?” My blood congeals, turns viscous in my bookworm veins. Why are you reading that? I churn the sentence around in my head…Why are you reading that, why are you reading that? I hold my tongue and carefully prepare my answer. I am reading it for enrichment. For both business and pleasure. I am reading to finally figure out where the stupid apostrophe goes, to discover old innovations and new clichés. When I read I hear music where there is no sound and I’m trying to find out how these little black marks on this white blank page can make you taste colour. I read to forget my pride and ditch all prejudices, to learn my own insignificance, to escape from my demons and find pleasure in rainy days. Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears, I come to bury my nose in a book. When I read I remember that there is more to life than the glow of a screen and an seemingly endless stream of first-world problems. I read so I can become a better writer, because to read is to learn to write and that it is a pen that will wield the ideas of a generation. Because I read I have cried with Anne, dined with Henry, fought with Beowulf, and though I was not yet born, I lived through 1984. To read is to connect with people who you have never met, who you will never meet, and who may or may not exist. To read is live a thousand lives, to be struck with the blinding light of a thousand splendid suns. Charlotte D, Hope ‘13