Do People Even Read Anymore? by Debra Loughead

                      

                                   (4) Facebook

The autumn equinox is well upon us and it’s time for getting cozy by the fireside, ensconced in a

plump armchair and opening up a book. Is there anything better than the smell of a new book. Or

that tactile feeling of dry paper between your fingertips as you turn each page.

Wait, what year is this? And yes I have to admit that I do find a lot of my stories

elsewhere nowadays because of all the streaming services available. But onscreen tales aren’t the

same as books; they preclude imagination, prevent us from seeing characters and situations as

they develop in our mind’s eye. Which is why I still allow time, and plenty of it, for reading. My

Libby library app is a godsend, because I can’t always afford to buy a brand new book (although

I did today, as a matter of fact.) And used books are a bonus if you can get past the musty scent.

But honestly, do people even read anymore? Well clearly you do, because you’re reading

this, and I thank you from the bottom of my cynical heart. But I truly miss the days when people

read books on public transit and in waiting rooms, or standing in airport lineups. Hunched over

their dog-eared novels or yes, even poetry books, much the way they hunch over their phones in

the 21 st century. Immersed in stories rather than irrelevant brain candy or, ugh, doom-scrolling.

For many of us writers, it’s becoming a concern, this paucity of readers. Yet we keep on

writing, because we have to. Because it doesn’t feel right if we don’t, and we always wonder, in

the back of our minds (well I do anyway) is anyone ever going to read the precious words we’ve

committed to the page after months or years of grinding out plots and characters? I’m almost

afraid to give my books away to friends and family in case they feel obligated to read them.

Don’t want to put any pressure on them, but seriously, please read my book!

I’ve heard excuses like ‘I’m afraid I’ll see myself in it’, or ‘I’m afraid I’ll hear too much

of your voice in it, and I won’t be able to separate you from the main character.’ (Eyeroll)

Please, just read the book and find out, and throw it at the wall if you hate it! (I’ve done that

before, in particular to One Hundred Years of Solitude, because I couldn’t figure out what all the

fuss was about and couldn’t be bothered trying anymore.) Do I even dare ask them to write a

review for me and post it online. (A few have, and I adore them for it!) But that might seriously

be far too much to ask.

Of course I do have an inner circle of dedicated readers who will always read anything I

write, (and I adore them for it). And I know so many people (women) who belong to those wine

and cheese clubs, oops sorry book clubs, and do their best to read each monthly selection. And

consider the lucky genre writers (who are fortunate enough to have agents) and have a rabid and

devoted reader fan base awaiting sequels with bated breath. (Imagine seeing your cozy mystery

or domestic thriller or paranormal fantasy novel front and centre in a book shop window display.

How cool would that be, I wonder?)

Nowadays I almost feel like hugging someone that I see reading an actual hard copy of a

book, and even E-books count at this point (after we thought that brick-and-mortar book shops

might be gone for good eventually, but they’re still out there, those wonderful indie shops, and

yes, that’s something to celebrate). The threat of AI encroaching on our territories always lurks.

Will we be replaced someday? Is all this writerly angst for naught?

And to all of you out there who are reading this, because you do actually still read books,

and enjoy reading about writers and writing, again, thank-you for keeping this arcane form of

entertainment alive and kicking. I’m hoping for blowback, hoping this is just a trend that will

fade away, this obsession with small screens and scrolling. I’m hoping that the deep appreciation

of being immersed in a good story will lure the masses away from the ‘black mirror’ that seems

to drag everyone down rabbit holes these days. That maybe we can eventually return to a time

when writers and their stories were treated with respect and appreciation. When people sat

huddled in a warm circle of light under a reading lamp and lost themselves in stories for hours.

Long live books and the readers who love them!