If life was measured by books, you would have about 700 more before you die. This is assuming you are in your early 20s, read the U.S. average of 12 books a year, and will live to the average U.S. life expectancy of 78.
Admittedly, I was skeptical of the Pew Research Center’s survey data on Americans’ reading habits. If the average American reads about 12 books a year, this means I fall well below average.
Since the start of 2020, I have read four books to completion — a fact made even more embarrassing when you consider that I am double-majoring in English and philosophy. That means, if I adjust the numbers correctly, I can expect to finish about 230 books before I kick the bucket.
Thus, it is appropriate to ask ourselves the following: how can we read more, and why do we put so much cultural emphasis on being well-read?
I found my answer to the former on a time crunch. There were 12 hours until my 500-level English course, yet the assigned reading had remained untouched on my shelf for a week. Just the thought of staying focused long enough to finish an entire book in one sitting felt suffocating. It simply could not be done.
Enter: audiobooks — an obvious answer, albeit shameful. At the time, my decision to create an Audible account felt like a cop-out solution to my laziness. English majors were supposed to read Jane Austen at French cafes and talk about literary nuance. Reading printed books comes with a certain sophistication. Upon investigating my hesitation with audiobooks, I realized that this internalized association I was making with reading and class made sense.
Literacy was historically a feature of the wealthy. Those who attended school learned to read, and those who could afford that luxury were upper-class families. That changed with the birth of the middle class in the mid-19th century. Literacy increased, as well as middle-class America’s desire to gain more cultural capital.
One way they achieved this was through book collecting. Having an elaborately carved antebellum bookshelf filled to the top with leather-bound books was a status symbol.
David Purificato explores this historical niche in “Signifier of Sophistication: The Bookcase in Nineteenth Century American Periodical and Literature Illustrations,” where he examines the role of print books as an imitation of upper-class sophistication and taste.
“As access to literature increased,” Purificato wrote, “presentation of books on a bookcase became a cultural mediator and signifier of sophistication for the middle-classes.”
It is no surprise, then, that we put a lot of cultural emphasis on reading — being well-read is a symbol of literacy and, subsequently, class. Which is to say, my shame in transitioning to audiobooks was actually historically justified.
No matter how little cultural capital audiobooks hold, they do not seem to make a difference in reading immersion and comprehension. The Gallant Lab studied the neurological response to reading and listening to stories, and found that both mediums engaged people’s brains in similar ways — the brain maps both auditory and visual input in a nearly identical way.
So, I bought the audiobook, doubled the speed and read along with the voice. Four hours later, I found myself not only finished with the assignment, but completely inspired to read more. If I could finish an entire book in a single night, maybe that 12-book-a-year goal was not as far-reaching of a milestone as I had originally thought.
That night I increased my life expectancy by at least one more book, and you can too.
