Many of us are first introduced to books through school. We learn how to read, and at a certain point we discover information and facts from them. By the time we are tweens, we start to deconstruct the structure of fiction, figuring out plot, metaphor, and characterization. By high school, we know how to write an essay using source material.
If you never get beyond assigned reading, you might conclude that the purpose of books is to teach facts and ideas, language and communication. And books certainly do all of those things. I have found, though, that none of these are among the main reasons I read.
Instead, my motivation is drawn from a combination of the following:
- Armchair Transport One of the chief pleasures of reading is the ability to slip through a wormhole of the present to another time and place. I often select my next read by asking myself a question, “Where do I feel like going today?” There are so many options: contemporary Lagos, New York in the ’80s, Jerusalem in 70 AD. Good writers create a world of small details that put you there. I can experience the rains in Nigeria, so heavy that you can’t safely walk outside. Or a fifth-floor walk up in the Village, where a makeshift family grapples with the spectre of HIV. Or the sand and clay of biblical times, when a temple was destroyed and a community sent into exile. Books are stamps in a passport.
- Window Gazing Another undeniable appeal of reading is the opportunity to gain access to the private thoughts and confessions of others. Books are a curious alternative to the age of social media curation. While people go to great lengths to craft an image of their best moments on Instagram and Facebook, reading offers a view into what’s really going on. While scrolling past picture perfect images of weddings and babies, memoirs and fiction about pill popping mothers and secretly sadistic husbands tell a different story.
- Killing Time Unless you are a very lucky or very dramatic person, life gets dull at times. Books offer an escape from a long Sunday afternoon. The mystery/suspense genre is one of my favorite ways to spice up a boring weekend. Good writers know that readers are looking to have their choices validated. No one wants to finish a book bereft with the awareness of a life unfulfilled. This is why so many books feature relatable protagonists whose lives are just a little worse than average. You may root for your heroine, but when you finish her story, you are glad to go back to your comparatively easy life.
This week’s book combined elements of all three of the reasons I read. Set in the dusty Australian outback, a place I have briefly visited but probably won’t get back to, it is the story of a hometown boy forced to confront his past. Working as a Melbourne financial crimes investigator, Aaron Falk is drawn back home after his childhood best friend dies in an apparent murder-suicide. Years ago, the friend, Luke, provided Aaron with an alibi after a young woman drowned. All of this coalesces into a transporting story that made me appreciate what I have. I grew up in a small town, so it was interesting to contrast my own impressions with the Aussie counterpart. I was compelled to keep turning the pages to figure out what had happened to Luke and his young family. The author did a good job of incorporating past events into a present third-person narration. The whole thing is a look behind the tourist-friendly Aussie curtain of sunny beaches and barbeques. As a friend said after finishing it, “Outback? No thanks.”
Books Smitten 