Why I Read

There are, to me, two kinds of books. Those that connect you to the world outside of yourself and those that you relate to inwardly. Many times a book does both.

In a world of information, where every fact and figure is at my fingertips, I turn to non-fiction books for depth, for purposeful learning. When I pick up a biography, or a historical account of some event that I'm interested in, I do it to retain the information. Reading a book isn't skimming a Wikipedia page. Reading a book is thinking, growing, letting it settle in your stomach and change you. Reading a book to learn makes me feel powerful. "In a world of ignorance," my mom once told me, writing her library list, "knowledge is my respite." Every time I read, whether it be the daily paper reporting the primary winners or a 500 page collection of the nurses from World War 2, I imagine myself chipping away at my ignorance, at my immaturity, my prejudices. Fiction as well helps show new worlds, transporting me into times, places, and situations I would never be in otherwise. In this way books can be both an escape and a facing of the harsh realities of the human narrative.

But the most incredible thing about books isn't that I can learn about experiences and places that I will never have or see. The most incredible thing is that sometimes, I learn about myself. Often in novels, and poetry especially, there will be a character, or a feeling-- some deep, twisted emotion that you've never been able to articulate-- that's brought to light through the deftness of an author's language. As Henry says in The History Boys:

"The best moments in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - that you'd thought special, particular to you. And here it is, set down by someone else, a person you've never met, maybe even someone long dead. And it's as if a hand has come out, and taken yours."
And that moment, that clarity in which you realize that you are not alone, that's why I read.