What is a Reader?
It’s a question that sits right at the heart of Inspire’s I Am A Reader project, and one Molly Ellson, who took part in our original I am A Reader sessions, found illuminating. In this poignant article, she shares her experience of the project, and takes an in depth look of what it really means to be a reader . . .
Is a reader someone who dedicates every moment of their spare time struggling through the classics, desperate to decipher a hidden undercurrent that everyone else has missed? Is it someone who expels the city air from their lungs, as they slump on the train seat and pull out the latest Margaret Atwood? Is it someone who still relishes the feel of rough newspaper pages between their fingers, as they sip a morning coffee before work? Is a reader someone who scans the backs of shampoo bottles, because they’ve forgotten to take their favourite fantasy novel to the bathroom again?
Maybe a reader is someone who blocks out the incessant racket of the world with the soothing sound of Stephen Fry narrating their go-to comfort story. Perhaps a reader flicks through ancient tabloid magazines in the dentist waiting room, analysing every agony aunt column for a solution to their own problems.
Maybe we are all readers in our own right. We have ingested narratives for centuries - it’s a part of what makes us human. So who are we to define who is and who isn’t a ‘real’ reader? There are so many nuances and layers that compose a person who reads, elements I would have never even thought about before embarking upon the I Am A Reader project.
Sure, I’ve discussed stories with friends and family; films, series and books we’ve recently become obsessed with. Most of the seminars in my English degree were spent dissecting countless novels of a seemingly never-ending reading list:
- What does this say about the time period?
- What political messages can you uncover in this text?
- Which techniques has the author used here?
- Does the author even exist?
However, being a part of the I Am A Reader discussions felt different. More personal.
They provided intriguing insights into how people read, not just what and by who. Some considered themselves avid readers of challenging tales and thought-provoking plots, only feeling satisfied with the experience if their mind was put to work in some way or other. Others simply enjoyed the blissful escapism of a tale well trodden to distract them from the trials and tribulations of day-to-day life.
We got to know each other through our reading habits and I came to ponder whether our personalities, which were vastly different in many ways and quietly congruent in others, had any affect on the way we read.
Inevitably there were some clashes. I’d quite frankly be disappointed if there were none, considering that we were all eyes-light-up passionate about the books that we frequently savoured. The incessant tussle over whether certain genres had more substance, or were deemed more worthy than others, did rear its head. Because, how could anyone possibly prefer reading about the menial lives of a pair of star-crossed, teenage lovers over the scintillating quests of cold-blooded murderers?
It left me wondering whether it really mattered. Does a genre or style of writing need to be ‘relevant’ or ‘important’ or ‘provocative’ to be enjoyed and accepted as a story?
I don’t think so. What truly mattered, to me, was the magic that filled the space when each member described the way that reading made them feel. The way that they could become so absorbed in a story that the rest of the world just fizzled away around them.
I remember feeling that way as a child, reading a book that changed everything and made me feel as though life as I knew it would never be the same again. I thought there’d never be another like it. Transitioning into adulthood, I’ve delighted in the realisation that actually there are others like it - life-changing, that is - and there always will be. That reading is, in fact, ageless and there are no boundaries to what I can enjoy as a reader. It’s liberating.
So, why do some of us revel in a young adult novel, or even a children’s picture book every now and again? The storylines are intriguing, there’s action, multi-layered characters, magical worlds and, honestly, young people are a lot more self and world aware than we give them credit for. Some of the themes I read about as a teenager helped me to prepare for life as an adult and are still majorly relevant now that I am one.
There was one thing that we in the group all agreed upon. The tantalising nature of characters. Whether we were methodical analysts of complex plotlines, or meandering fantasists of whimsical fables, we all unanimously agreed that it was the characters that drew us into any tale. We harmonised in our awe at the ability of characters to steer us through their story with complexities, flaws and redeeming qualities that we can all relate to.
No need for any kind of physical description - the less interference with their juicy inner workings, the better.
In the end, I suppose that’s what it all boils down to. Us. Us as individuals, as characters. No matter what our age or background. Whether we enjoy comics, canonical door wedges or audiobooks. Stories are just as diverse as we are.
I often find myself posing the question: who am I? I am an administrative assistant (sure, that’s my job). I am a creative writing tutor (also part of my job). I am a writer (when the inspiration eventually hits) I am an aunty, a friend, a daughter. I am a plethora of things that make me who I am. However, I have never once, when asking myself that question, considered: ‘I am a reader’.
But I am. I was a reader long before I was most of those things that make me who ‘I am’, and I believe I will be a reader long after they’ve dispersed, too.
So, in response to my initial question, ‘what is a reader?’, it may just be that the most apt answer I can give is quite simply: I am.