The Case for Slow Reading
I am both a fast and a slow reader. Here’s what I mean:
When I read a book for the first time, I usually speed-read because I don’t yet know whether or not this book will be worth my time.
However, I’m a chronic re-reader, so though I read in nearly all my spare time, I haven’t actually read that many books in total. Rereading old, familiar favourites is my preferred practice (though I’ve slowly ventured away from that since becoming a book reviewer; I’d say my reading habits are more balanced now).
If I love a book, I will reread it—slowly—in order to savour a book and digest it properly. In fact, my primary criteria for giving a book five stars is whether or not I’d want to read it again and again.
The first year I started tracking my reading was 2019; in the first half, I read forty-some books. In the second, less than ten. M likes to tell people of the time I read three books in one day. That was during that year.
If you asked me what I read in the first half, I’d answer that I haven’t the faintest idea. Maybe some parenting books.
However, I do remember reading Chronicles of Narnia and Lord of the Rings in the second half.
Of course, compared to some people, fifty books a year is nothing. With so many books out there, and more being published every single day, a lifetime would hardly be enough time to consume all the books one wants to read.
But that’s the thing, isn’t it? With that kind of speed, it’s about consumption rather than digestion. Admittedly when I’m reading quickly, I am essentially giving myself the equivalent of a Sparknotes taste before deciding to fully invest.
I’ve been wondering what it would be like to apply my slow reading practices to all the books I read
One time when I was still in college, I decided to read Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro. As usual, I skimmed through it, coming to the conclusion that the writing was, at best, mediocre, and I could not see what all the hype was about. What a simple story, I thought.
Many years later, I decided to read it again for some reason. Upon a second, slower read-through, I picked up on many of the subtleties I had missed previously. By the end, the book had me feeling a whole spectrum of emotions, from deep sorrow to immense gratitude. It left me permanently with a sense of life’s brevity and desire to focus on what truly matters.
I nearly missed out on what is now one of my all-time favourites.
What I’ve learned from slow reading
It makes me feel more. It gives me time to sit with the characters and setting, rather than racing from plot point to plot point.
I observe more. Reading slowly makes the experience more about getting to know the book the way you get to know a new friend, instead of it being a way to judge an author based on their ability to catch my attention (however unintentional it may be, that’s what it comes down to).
I learn more. Of course, not every seemingly unobtrusive book will turn out to be a diamond in the rough like Never Let Me Go, but most books that aren’t simply fast food have some gems waiting to be uncovered.
“I hate when someone says, “I devoured that book.” No. You have to savor it. You have to decant the book. You have to let it breathe.”
Nowadays, time for books must be snuck in between parenting and writing and working and house tasks (normal life stuff, in other words). As I’ve gotten back into reading more regularly again this year, I’ve come to the rather humbling realisation that my limited spare time means I need to rethink my habits.
Reading a potentially great book only to have to read it again because I didn’t read it thoroughly the first time is no longer a good strategy for this season.
Moving forward, I will allow myself to read slowly. To prevent the feeling of wasting my time on something unenjoyable, I give myself permission to DNF books(“Did Not Finish”), something I have stubbornly refused to do until quite recently.