Recovering Enjoyment in an Age of Obligation
I recently found myself strangely perplexed in one of my favorite used bookstores. The vast shelves loomed before me and the intoxicating aroma of old books filled the air. But I stood stone-still. I didn’t quite know what to do…
Slowly I realized that my odd paralysis had a lot to do with the absence of a convenient algorithm designed to curate a list of recommendations based on my past purchases. Marooned in this massive brick and mortar store with its teeming shelves, I had nothing but my own desires and interests to carry me through. And what an inconvenience that was! I’d have to carefully search the shelves. I’d have to explore the books, leaf through them. Oh, I could pull out my phone and consult the reviews for each item in my hands, but that was also cumbersome. Plus, something about that felt crass in this context. At any rate, I was amazed to discover that I wanted someone else to make my decisions for me.
In his helpful book, The Pleasures of Reading in an Age of Distraction, Alan Jacobs redirects our attention to two vital features of our pursuit as readers, namely, “whim and serendipity.” Instead of always defaulting to the recommendations of customers or professional critics, cultivate your own taste. That means: Read what you enjoy, not just what you think you ought to read. Sometimes, James Patterson might beat out Shakespeare and Virginia Woolf and that’s okay. Jacobs’ concern is not that people are apathetic about reading, but that they’re too idealistic. Before you tackle James Joyce, for instance, you’ve got to learn how to actually enjoy the act of reading itself. A dogged sense of obligation is not going to get you through the linguistic maze that is Finnegan’s Wake. But a genuine joy and excitement at the possibilities of words on the page may push you in some surprising directions.
Why the above paragraph? Because if you’ve fallen into the habit of letting algorithms do your thinking for you, there’s a good chance you’re forgetting the fine art of enjoyment. In this case, the question is not, “Should I read this?” but “Do I want to read this?” Forget the “customers who liked this also liked this” lists! If you’re interested, take a risk. Rinse and repeat and you’ll be well on your way to having your own taste, which is the prerequisite to becoming a reader, rather than a customer.
When that happens, when you’ve cultivated your own sense of taste, you’ll be able to experience the enchantment of stumbling onto something you’ll come to love–of discovering something new, rather than having it foisted on you by some hollow program. When we shake ourselves out of the stupor of online conditioning and obligation and press into the freedom of enjoyment, the prospect of walking through a vast used book store isn’t so oppressive. In fact, it’s downright delightful.
