Why I Read
In 1998, David Bowie took the popular Proust Questionnaire for Vanity Fair magazine. When asked about his idea of perfect happiness, his response was simply: “reading.”
Like Bowie, my favorite thing to do is read, and also, like Bowie, my favorite things are books. Discovering that one of the most incredible talents ever to live was a fellow bookworm was comforting. I thought to myself: “He’s just like me!” (This love of reading is probably the only way in which I can claim I’m anything like Bowie, so I’m going for it.)
David Bowie for the American Libray Association
I often ask myself: Why is reading important to me? Why is it all I want to do with my free time? Why have I pivoted my content to books? I don’t have clear answers. Growing up, I wasn’t the kid with her nose buried in a book. I loved reading and did it often, but it wasn’t a huge part of my identity. I don’t have a monumental book that made me a lifelong reader. Truthfully, I hardly remember any of the books I read when I was young. I didn’t grow up in a “reading house,” but I did grow up in a “book house.” Books, comics, magazines, and newspapers were haphazardly stacked in every corner. Our garage was a maze of dingey old boxes overflowing with books. My dad and grandfather were book collectors, but these weren’t fancy first-editions; these were garage sale books. Sometimes they would sell them for cheap on Amazon (back when Amazon was an indie bookselling market, not an evil monopoly), but mostly, these were books for collecting dust.
Books became familiar objects that I could rely on to always be there for me, not for their words, but for their proximity. I felt comforted by their presence. Sometimes, though, I did read the books, probably more often than I remember. But the stories I read feel more like subliminal messages than distinct books I cherish. I think this is why I love picture books so much. My reading memories are hazy and unreliable. I've not returned to most of the books I read as a young adult, but now that I have two young children, I have returned to many of the books I read as a child. Reading these stories to my kids stirred up unexpected feelings and memories. I felt a strange kinship to them, and I realized why picture books can profoundly impact us. Even if, as adults, we’ve forgotten these books, I believe (at least with the good ones) they affect how we see the world. They influence our views of art and language. But most importantly, they have the power to shape how we see ourselves.
Reading is pleasurable, but I don’t think that should be the goal. It’s fine to read books for entertainment, but that’s not why I read. I believe literature is art, and art should provoke us and ask questions — which isn’t necessarily pleasurable. Through reading, I can enter the world of a stranger. I can be intimate with someone or something in ways I can’t in the physical world. Reading challenges me and makes me a more agile thinker. I read because I’m fascinated by the visceral impact of words combined with rhythm. The ways that language can both dazzle and disturb us. And, like Bowie, I read out of restless curiosity and a voracious appetite for life.
(As much as I admire Bowie, I wish he read more books by female authors. It’s shocking coming from him — an artist known (and praised) for his gender fluidity. I hope that if he were still alive, he’d recognize that his reading repertoire was not nearly as progressive and non-binary as his persona and that his list of Top 100 Favorite Books should include a broader range of writers and thinkers.)
If you want to read like me (and, in turn, claim you’re just like Bowie), you can shop some of my favorite books at Bookshop.org. You can also read more of my articles about books here.
