I Read Books the Wrong Way

It’s time for confession and internet-style public embarrassment again. For all my amateurish advice on reading well, mostly cribbed from recollections of Mortimer Adler in How To Read, you’d think I’d have the basic technique down. You know, of reading. Unfortunately, I don’t. Nope, not me. I read books the wrong way. Or at least, I think I do.

Here’s the problem in a nutshell. I read fiction for truth and information, as fast as possible, corn-on-the-cob style, consuming ideas like clusters of kernels. With non-fiction, I’m looking for a story, some narrative , and not one external to the information that will put it in context, but an actual tale that will take me through it. I only realized this while reading Kazuro Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go, and frankly, Mr. Careful Plot Revelation wasn’t exactly helping me out (that is, it’s a page-turner—read it).

I think I’ll invent a word for this, dysthemia. Suggestive of mixing up the point of a written work. There, can someone call the OED for me? I don’t have their number.

2 thoughts on “I Read Books the Wrong Way

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s