Why Read?

There is an exchange between the mother and son in Will Schwalbe's "The end of your life book club" about cruelty and meanness as they are portrayed in books that has stayed with me today. It goes something like this. When the son asks his mother who is dying of pancreatic cancer how she feels about reading books that are depressing because they harp on cruelty, especially now that she herself is suffering from such a cruel disease, she answers that although, of course, she hates cruelty, it is important to read about it in order to know it, to recognize it when it occurs, and to learn how actions which begin as ordinary and harmless can gradually grow into cruelty. Presumably, gaining familiarity with the evolution of cruelty through literature is important, because doing so can assist us in avoiding it in the first place or perhaps in resisting it once it begins to spread. 

There are two interesting assumptions about the view that Schwalbe's mother advances. One is that a literary portrayal of cruelty must be subtle and life-like, not crude and obvious, for us to be able learn anything meaningful from it. Villains who are depicted as classic bullies or stereotypically wicked aren't going to enlighten us very much. A study of cruelty, then, only becomes interesting when it is examined in literature by highly skilled authors who have also accumulated a rich store of experiences with a wide variety of individuals, including those who could be characterized as cruel.

The other assumption is the one I want to use the rest of this space to elaborate on. And that is simply that one of literature's main functions is to teach us how to live. I'm sure that Mrs. Schwalbe isn't saying it's the only function. Literature, after all, does a lot of things that include showing us how to use language well, giving us experiences that we could never have directly on our own, and helping us understand how artistic and literary traditions wax and wane. But it also teaches us about love and compassion and jealousy and betrayal and rapture and loss and, well, a whole lot of other things, too, including cruelty. 

And as we read about these things, especially in the hands of our finest writers, we gain insight into the stuff that makes people tick. What drives them to make sacrifices for others or compels them to strike out against innocent people or enjoins them to become part of something much greater than themselves. We learn how they think about these things, how they talk about them, how they respond to a conflict or crisis, and finally what brings them to a boil or to some sort of turning point in their lives. 

We read for pleasure. Of course. We read to make ourselves more interesting. Undoubtedly. We read to have something else to talk about. No question. And some of us read because we are addicted to language, to the magic words conjure up through their choice, sound, arrangement, and cumulative impact. But I think we read most of all for enlightenment, for understanding, for guidance, and, yes, for wisdom. And it isn't as if the finest writers are necessarily the wisest people. I don't think that's quite it. Rather, it is that these writers are so skilled and so masterful with words that they have the ability to offer a reflection or representation of how  we actually live that is true, powerful and concentrated (usually novels can be consumed in anywhere from a few hours to a couple of days of continuous reading). In so doing, each artistically rendered book that we read is a kind of slice of life, usually not with an obvious moral or lesson, but with enough rich context and character development to offer insight into how people grow, how they become the people they are, for better or for worse. 

That portrait of a life lived for good or ill, it really doesn't matter which, introduces us to another person and the choices they make, and as with any experience, especially if we take the time to think about and reflect on that experience, we are helped to see the world more clearly and the challenges people face more vividly. Each book that we read, then, especially when read with care, serves as a guide to how we might live our own lives in a more wide-awake manner, with greater sensitivity and perhaps a heightened sense of responsibility as well. Maybe writers don't set out to teach us how to live and certainly they aren't expected to. But when a book is great, it is great, in part, because it reveals something to us about the human condition that makes each of us just a little bit wiser than we were before. And that's not a trivial thing.