Getting Back Into Reading

As I was thinking about what to write today, I realised that the ‘getting back into…’ is turning into a bit of a series. This wasn't planned, it was completely by accident. My previous relevant post was discussing getting back into writing. As part of that, I discussed my blog post on my thoughts about finishing university, and how I think that has at least temporarily affected my relationship with reading, and how it makes me feel. Reading was most definitely included in this, but I wanted to share getting back into reading as its own separate entity, because I appreciate the people who read a lot might not write; they are two separate activities. Although, they can play on each other very well. This also highlights the fact that my interest in writing has turned back up much quicker than my interest in reading. That said, what sparked me into writing this post was that I have attempted over several weeks and months to start reading books (and I have read some), but I haven't felt any kind of emotional connection to the reading process. Every book felt flat; even when I seemed to enjoy them, I didn't get the same engagement that I usually feel. 

I feel this is connected to the fact that academic reading can really ruin reading for enjoyment. Particularly in terms of English Literature, you’re constantly thinking about how different scenes, themes, and context have shaped the work. As such, you're not really taking in the writing and the story as though you're a reader in the same way as an academic. Which — don't get me wrong — is amazing in itself, but it can mean every time I start reading a book, I start critiquing writing style (because I am perfect, obviously), foreshadowing and hidden meanings where there might not be any. Think of it like an English teacher trying to get you to explain the significance of a red door, and why it is not purple. Academic reading can make your head feel very full: you're having to consider the task, consider your own ideas, and then apply them as part of a piece of writing. I felt this fullness whenever I was starting to read anything.

Finishing my degree, it was almost like, now that I don't have to read, why would I want to do that? Even thinking that hurts my soul.

As I'm writing this, I have just finished A Particularly Painful Case by Adam Kay, which is the medical thriller that got me back into reading. To hear myself reflect on the fact that I was finding it inconceivable to even consider the idea of reading a book relatively painful, because I am now able to engage with a book for pleasure. It felt, for a while, that the words on the page were just that: words, and nothing more. 

It does make sense in the fact that I was studying full-time and working full-time and that in itself is a lot to manage — sometimes too much to manage. In that sense, I realise that my brain kind of shut off because it was trying to divert all the energy and the attention to what I had perceived as the most important things. Now, it has been a several weeks after I have finished my degree. I feel like my brain is almost coming back online and I'm able to enjoy things differently, and in the ways that I used to.

That doesn't mean to say that when I start reading a book I don't have to take my time much more than I used to need to. For example, it takes me a lot longer to read ten pages now than it would have done before. There were some days when I could sit and read for an hour or so and get through a hundred pages — but at the moment, I can't imagine that happening. So, I really have to be careful with how much expectation I am inadvertently putting on myself, and allow myself to simply enjoy the idea of reading. It is a particularly amazing feeling to feel like my brain is coming ‘back online’, because — particularly towards the end of my degree — I felt an increasing feeling of impending doom that I would never feel the joy of reading again. I was starting to question whether I enjoyed reading in the first place (which now, writing this, I can put down to burnout, and it was just a matter of time before my brain adjusted to the change).

As well as this being burnout, I think it comes from an area of perfectionism. I have the idea that I need to be doing something in order to be productive — forgetting that rest and reading are both individually doing something, and therefore productive. Objectively, I can see how important reading is for the brain and life in general. Nonetheless, in the moment I'm thinking, “Why am I not doing X, Y, and Z instead?” “Why am I not planning my next essay, “Why am I not planning my free time during the week?” As part of this, I was also putting more pressure on myself to enjoy reading. As I was putting too much pressure on myself in a mechanical way, it meant that I was not actually able to enjoy the reading. 

To be honest with you, I don't know why it was A Particularly Case out of all the others that I have tried to read that seemed to spark my interest again. My only thought is that perhaps because it was a thriller, and it was based predominantly in a clinic — so a contained environment. So, I was able to enjoy the story without having to expend too much of my capacity in trying to remember who the characters were and what was happening, because it was all happening to the same cast of characters. There was always that reassurance that, because it's a thriller, something bad is going to happen — and it's going to be resolved in some way by the end of the book. And so, I was able to enjoy the journey.

As cringey as that might sound, it had been such an ordeal to actually finish a book, and feel accomplished in finishing the book. It felt quite the achievement. I feel that it has now sparked my lifelong interest in books again, which is a massive relief for me. As you're reading this, you can probably hear the tone of surprise at the fact that I lost my interest in reading. Trust me, nobody is more surprised than myself. I was able to read books, of course, I haven't forgotten how to read. I was just not able to engage on an emotional level in the same way. As I mentioned, this was more from an academic point of view and itself has previously hampered my reading for pleasure, but I feel like that's been put aside now

There is almost an element of guilt because I was an English Literature student, and then I was an English literature student who had lost interest in reading? How does that work? Having said that, I have heard from a lot of people who had considered studying English Literature further, but then they didn't want to destroy their love of books, and so decided to do something else. I can see exactly what they meant. Initially, when people were telling me about this, I could appreciate what they were saying, and I could see that happening for me. However, I didn't appreciate in what way that would be happening. I didn't appreciate that — when I would be looking at a page of a book — I would literally be seeing shapes, letters and words on the page rather than the imagination. I joked with myself thinking that I am an English Literature student who does not read. However, it seems that we are on an up now, and I have already started on my second book of this reading high.