Reading the Room: The Role of Readers in Our Literary Landscape
by Amy Wilson Sheldon
May 14, 2020
Universal Hobbies 101: Spending time with friends and family, a good cup of “designer coffee” and/or pint of craft brew, and…reading. Doesn’t it seem that in our efforts to differentiate ourselves, we often end up inadvertently acknowledging that — in many ways — we’re pretty much the same? You like to read? Hey, I like to read! Now what?
With the proliferation of celebrity book clubs (love ‘em or hate ‘em), book-oriented social media accounts, and Target’s embrace of the written word, it sort of feels like “reading” is trending. In fact, almost two years ago, the singer SZA tweeted, “Low key feel like books r making a comeback…” It was retweeted 14,000 times, probably because despite the fact that Gutenberg invented the printing press nearly 600 years ago, 21st century “reading” feels fresh, trendy, and inclusive.
Almost everyone I know loves to read. Everyone! But most people I know (outside of certain circles where I know people because of our shared love of books) do not go to any sort of “literary event.” No book festival, no author reading, no conversation about themes found in, say, World War II or YA novels. I was already keenly aware of that fact, but a couple of weeks ago, a Twitter thread about the Galway-based Cúirt International Festival of Literature, which was one of the first festivals to move its programming online in the midst of the coronavirus crisis, caught my eye.
A Tweet from Across the Pond
Belfast-based writer Jan Carson wrote, “630 people are currently watching Anne Enright in conversation with @rickoshea. @CuirtFestival maybe we need to seriously rethink how we do literary festivals in the future. There must be a lot of people watching here who couldn’t have made it to the physical event.” Locally, we know that the Newburyport Literary Festival, with assistance from A Mighty Blaze, similarly (and successfully!) pivoted its programming online, as have many bookstores. Starting in April, Miami Book Fair debuted its own series of virtual programming. Undoubtedly more festivals and bookshops will follow suit, and this is huge in terms of accessibility.
First, let’s acknowledge that geography- and commute-free programming presents the lowest of barriers for participation. (Note: Depending on the event, cost may still provide a barrier.) Presumably, new attendees see the little-to-no-obligation of a virtual event as an easy way to curiously test the waters. One respondent to Carson’s Tweet noted that she “never [goes] to lit festivals – it’s not how [she uses her] very limited free time…[but] it’s MARVELLOUS!” And Carson replied: “So glad you’re here for this tonight…Anne’s obviously special but a lot of lit events are this kind of format. Hopefully @CuirtFestival going online will allow people to get a wee taster.”
Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful! However, one other reply to Carson’s tweet caught my eye, and I’m wondering if it sets the stage for rethinking “book events” not just from a physical accessibility perspective, but shuffling up the players a tad as well. Can we take the opportunity with experimentation to further blow open the notion of who would go to a literary event in the first place, and more importantly — why?
Someone prefaced her reply to Carson’s tweet saying, “I’m a fairly typical audience member for lit fests/events…” Indeed. (I’m going to be quick to note here that I would certainly raise my hand as “a fairly typical” event goer as well.) I’m not saying that literary events draw one type of person based on outward criteria; instead, I’m positing that people who like to discuss an author’s research or those who find conversation about the ins and outs of the publishing world titillating are actually a small percentage of overall readers. I know a lot of people who like to read — love it, even — but would never consider going to a “book event.” No book festival, no author reading, no lectures/discussions. For some, I know why: It’s off-putting, they feel insecure in their book choices (not “sophisticated” enough), they’re worried that they’ll be put on the spot to ask questions, or, frankly, these events sound dull to them. Most controversial of all, perhaps: They might know little to nothing about the author — and don’t see a reason to change that.
From where I sit — as someone who has worked with a book festival (the Dublin Book Festival), but also as someone who doesn’t have a lot of friends in the literary “industry” — there’s a bit of a disconnect between “readers” and “literary culture.” They’re not necessarily one and the same. I’ve always loved to read. I’ve always loved to write too. Yet we all have a tendency to congeal these two disciplines. Even our “English” classes from primary school all the way up to college (English major here!) present a tangential, but sometimes discordant, relationship between reading well and writing well.
Why We Read — and How to Celebrate It
On my Instagram account, I occasionally explore the idea of why we read. The top answers always seem to be:
- Escapism
- Learn something new
- Travel
- “Step in the shoes” of someone different than oneself
- Re-frame one’s own life using fiction, i.e., bibliotherapy
- Comfort
- Relaxation
Even the most erudite readers I know — the ones whose shelves are lined with a combination of classics, international prize-winning novels, and translated fiction — usually fall into those categories. They care very much about authors, and will absolutely make it a point to go to interesting “in conversation with” events. But at the end of the day, the actual act of reading and enjoying a story is for them.
Literary festivals, book festivals, festivals of literature, author readings/conversations: Whatever we call them, let’s acknowledge their important role in promoting authors and publishers. These events connect readers with authors they admire or allow readers to explore an idea more in-depth. As a “fairly typical attendee,” I love this. But is there space to consider a different type of event? One that simply celebrates the joy and act of reading? One that puts the reader at the forefront instead of the author? All these 21st century things I note at the top of this piece — the things that make it appear like reading is the best thing since sliced bread — point to an entire reading culture that exists outside of the traditional literary event world. Can we create events that are rooted first in community, using literature as a springboard to celebrate that?
Disrupting the Model
Let’s flip literary programming on its head just a bit. A celebration of reading might be different than a celebration of authors or a celebration of publishing, or even a celebration of writing. While we can’t read the books that move us without the authors who write them, the editors who shape them, and the publishers and booksellers who get them into our hands, what would it mean to let the readers “take the stage,” so to speak? I’d argue that the most joyful connections over books occur between two or more readers.
Think about the last time you shared a passionate conversation with someone about the finale of Homeland or The Americans. While some viewers may do a deep dive into the actors’ off-screen lives or want to learn more about the producers, the writers, and the genesis of the show’s idea, the bulk of us just want to discuss surprising plot twists, what affected us, what we thought was phony, and most importantly, how the show made us feel. Sure, this is what book clubs are for. But take a look at two popular event formats that have provided subtle tweaks to how we enjoy different forms of media:
Choir! Choir! Choir!: Based out of Toronto, this weekly drop-in singing event, where participants learn an arrangement and then sing pieces from Rick Astley, to The Tragically Hip, to Beyoncé, has grown in popularity and now has 205,000 subscribers on YouTube. By their own definition, the format is “equal parts singing, comedy, and community-building.” Although sometimes musicians drop in to help with their own songs, the thrust of the evening’s feel is people coming together — talent or no talent — to experience a beautiful piece of music together.
CrimeCon: True crime is having a moment. And while this large-scale conference does, indeed, showcase television shows, personalities, podcasts, and other “products,” something special about the true crime community is its recognition of “citizen sleuths.” In fact, one of the main presenters at “CrimeCon At Home,” CrimeCon’s pivoted-to-online major event in early May, was Deanna Thompson, citizen sleuth of the popular docuseries Don’t F**k With Cats: Hunting an Internet Killer.
Testing New Events in MetroWest
A few years ago, new to MetroWest Boston, I knew that I’d like to see more literary programming closer to where I live. We’re a reading bunch out here, with (depending on how you classify MetroWest) at least four independent bookstores, plus a bustling Barnes & Noble. Framingham State University, with its vibrant and diverse student body, is right here, as are the birthplaces and historic sites of some of America’s most historically revered writers. At the same time, I participated in a year-long leadership academy through Leadership MetroWest and knew that I wanted to celebrate the patchwork of different communities and people that comprise this region. Could I do that via literature?
Last November, I launched something called Book Covers: A MetroWest Read-Aloud Series, with a goal of highlighting books we love, read by interesting people to a curious community. I’d love to invite you to the second edition of Book Covers on Thursday, June 11 at 8 pm. This event would have taken place at ātac (formerly Amazing Things Arts Center), a dynamic performance space in downtown Framingham, but now, it’ll be streaming from participants’ homes. The event “piec[es] together interesting readers…to read interesting pieces together,” and will be focused on readers reading passages of fiction, from classic to contemporary, all around the theme of “Fate.” After, there will be a Q&A with everyone involved. Some participants are writers and others are “lay people,” but the bottom line is: They’re all readers. When I’ve reached out to potential participants or applied for funding, I’ve been deliberate in calling it a “community literary event” since connection – using literature as a springboard – is the ultimate goal.
The proliferation of online events has shown us what happens when people have easier access to programming: Attendance is up! In that spirit, what would happen if we created events that put the focus on readers and the joy of reading? These are the people who buy books, share books on social media, and often view books as incredibly personal and meaningful. It would seem to me that a spotlight on readers — and how reading affects them — would only help authors, publishers, and the “literary industry.” We’re not all authors, but we’re all readers.
Amy Wilson Sheldon is a Sudbury-based writer, editor, and communications consultant to nonprofits — with a dash of literary event production on the side. Her writing has appeared in the Boston Globe, Books Ireland, the Dublin Review of Books, and The Curator. Since 2014, she has written regularly about books and “reading culture” at ALifelyRead.com, and in 2018 started sharing her musings on Instagram and Facebook.
Book Covers will take place virtually on June 11 at 8pm, and will feature Hank Phillippi Ryan, Rep. Jack Lewis, Marjan Kamali, Grace Talusan, and Jen Maseda, with online book sales from Silver Unicorn Books. Find out more information here.
