.SOMETIMES RAW.

One of the questions I am asked most is, how do I read as much as I do? Sometimes it’s mere curiosity, sometimes the query is tinged with frustration. You have a child, a house, and a huge garden, ffs.

I get it. It is irritating to see someone do so much of something that you feel you have no time for. I feel similarly riveted and envious when I see people on Insta having the time to do their hair so nicely every day or the time to go to pilates so often. So I am going to try and answer this question as fully and honestly as I can while musing on this idea of time and why reading is somehow seen as a more productive use of it than other hobbies.

Historically, I have shied away from answering this question, because to answer it would be to acknowledge that yes, I do read a lot. And that to do so might imply that I think I am smart, or diligent, or – perish the thought – well read. I actually don’t think I am particularly well-read, btw. I read a lot, but have enormous gaps in my literary education. But pretending I don’t read a lot is like pretending I go spinning every day. It is an intractable truth.

I have read voraciously – at times, obsessively – since I was tiny. I took a book into every classroom, and I read in queues and during meals and on the toilet and on the bus/train home from a night out. As a child, my mother would take me to the library and we would get out the maximum 14 books. I could easily read for 8 hours a day, aged 9. I fucking loved it. I still fucking love it. I am easily over-stimulated, I have a racing brain, and reading takes me out of myself. It is my self-care, my meditation, my way to find an equilibrium in order to face the world. The novelist Emma Straub puts it perfectly:

My love for books arrived pre-memory. There is no before. Books were always my stalwart companions, my escape hatches, my private joys.

Reading a lot I can do. Reading is perhaps the only thing I know I can do. It is no more a skill – something I burnish and work at or feel proud of – than it is part of me. As the writer reader Zadie Smith observed in 2011 of her bibliomania:

For me, being a reader, in summer or at any other time, isn’t a “lifestyle choice.” Rather, I made the choice—if that’s what it was—so long ago, it has taken on an inescapable character in my mind. I think that if I were a very good swimmer, I would be proud to be so, but being proud of being a reader, in my case, is like being proud you have feet.

So yes, bestow up me no praise for simply doing a lot of something I like doing and I wish it would be even a part of my work. I get most of my writings for this blog or my books done after work. My work is a great playground to collect stories by simply watching people and listening to stories. I will take written or mental notes and work on the fineprint at home. As for where I find the time to read – in lieu of giving you an hourly breakdown of my week I will offer you these transparencies (not!!! tips).

• I do not have a regular exercise routine. And when I exercise, I usually listen to books on my phone. I love audiobooks while jogging.
• Cold outside: I read. Warm outside: I read. Snowstorm outside: Cozied up inside with hot chocolate and I read. You get the picture.
• I do not keep many (social media) apps on my phone, not because I am holier than thou, but because it makes me a jittery mess and I hate the time it eats. That saves me, say, 30 mins a day? I know someone who spends HOURS on Twitter. (That’s a very conservative estimate, I’d hazard.)
• I do not really cook, except for maybe once or twice a week. I heat. Cheese sandwiches in the sandwich maker, quiche, pasta, soup. I do not labour over my food for more than 20 mins and in the division of our household labour, my son helps me cook. (while I read to him, ha!)
• I read anytime I travel anywhere. Train, car, bus, plane – I make a point of getting out a book.
• I watch Netflix only a few nights a week (this is an insomnia thing as much as a reading thing) and I rarely go out. At least 3 nights a week I either read or write when my kid is in bed. Usually for 2/3 hours a night – which, as I am a fast reader, can be the bulk of a 300-page book. 
• There was a very stressful time in my life a couple of years ago and insomnia has caused me tremendous amounts of stress and exhaustion and resulted in a veritable shit ton of reading. In a bad bout, I may have slept for only one or two hours a night, which can easily make for a book a night. Not very healthy, I know but these times are over.

This is how I rack up the hours. It is not the right way to live a life, it’s just the way I live mine. So why does reading come with the moral signifiers that other hobbies do not – the signifiers that make so many people feel bad when they are not doing it? It is partly due to articles like this, with their somewhat flattening headlines on how reading makes you a better person. 

To be clear, I do think reading brings enormous benefits. It is a wonderful way to learn about the world and develop compassion, as well as language. I hope my child loves reading (I think he does) – but not because I think it will make him a worthier person than if he doesn’t.

When I hear people with young kids tell me they haven’t read a book for two years and they desperately want to, but how can they?? I hear someone who doesn’t need to read to get to sleep (lucky fuckers). I hear someone, perhaps, who likes scrolling through their phone, or watching Netflix every evening, or listening to a podcast series long into the night, or cooking something slow and delicious with a glass of wine in their hand while jazz plays softly in the background. (I want to be that person) I hear someone, in other words, who has found other ways to feed themselves.

I think, when it comes to our disposable hours, we make time for the things we want to do. I read because it is what I want to do, frequently to the exclusion of other things. I may think that I want to get into a solid pilates routine, or cook a meal out of a cookbook, or go to more gallery openings and museums, but in reality, I only want to want to. I will find ways, as I always do, to not do the other stuff, so that I can find time to read. So if you want to want read, don’t force it. As long as you are finding ways to nourish yourself, cut yourself some slack. Screw the books! Do what makes you happy.

We all have stuff we want to want to do. Sometimes we just have to go for it. This little something that makes up happy. And maybe when you finally make headway through the book cleaved to the surface of your nightstand, I’ll finally commit to a thrice-weekly pilates routine, and my reading will, with its big girl panties on, take a backseat for a while.

New editions of [Roald Dahl’s] children’s classics, including ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,’ have been altered to eliminate words deemed inappropriate. A backlash ensued.” — New York Times

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Dear Censoring people,

These days we are deeply concerned in changing things. Names, sauces, food names, street names, song lycics (Udo Jürgens!!), and whatnot. According to some, changing trivial things while the world is slowly coming to an end with so much other bullshit going on is more important. Bullshit like this shifts the focus from wars, climate issues, our kids, our youth who are staring into their phones all day and don’t know what a palindrome is, healthy food and many other stuff people should talk about instead.

So, we are changing words and meanings in books now. So nobody gets offended. Everything is gender-neutral, non-binary, you name it. Are we losing it? When I read the article in The New York Times on censoring and altering the children’s classic “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” among other Roald Dahl books, I got really angry. Now these idiots want to censor books as well? As an author, I say enough is enough. I am easy going but when it comes to censoring books I might turn into the Incredible Hulk. I mean, hey you people who change my beloved books. You’re censors. You’re not editors, and you’re not writers. Your censors. You are exactly what Orwell warned us about. My other question is: Where does this all go? Are we censoring all books now? Entire encyclopaedias?

I am annoyed. Enough is enough!

Without the author’s consent (e.g. Roald Dahl, Udo Jürgens and his songs), you are changing and omitting words that the author wrote. That makes you a censor.

What you’re doing is insane. See? I said it.

The most telling example of your condescension is when you removed the word “cashier” from one of Dahl’s books. Apparently, you think the word “cashier” is offensive. Well, hundreds of thousands of actual people are cashiers, and they don’t agree. They don’t think their mere existence is offensive.

You have no right to diminish their occupation or any other.

You have no right to take words from Dahl or any author.

If you were to get away with what you did – and rest assured, you will not get away with it – then every book in human history could be subject to the same censorship. Every book ever published has something in it that can be perceived as offensive. By some lightweights who then cry themselves to sleep at night over the word “fat”, or over “only men have been mentioned we have to add the female, or all 69 different genders that seem to exist now as well”. By the precedent you set, even the most carefully calibrated book written today, censored by censors like you, will be censored by someone else tomorrow.

The problem with censorship is that it has no end. Think of it: you censored Dahl’s books in the United States. What if the Germans wanted to censor them to suit their needs? And then the Chinese to suit theirs?

Get it? Once one group of censors gets to do their filthy work, then everyone will have their go.

If literature is to survive, we have two choices. Either:

a) No censorship, period, full stop, because it’s horrifying, or

b) Endless, unlimited censorship—a world where every craven group like yours has free reign to mangle every book ever written

No one wants your world. A book is a piece of art. Are you changing paintings next? Maybe someone is offended. Oh, no need for that because paintings are being destroyed by these idiots who glue themselves to them in museums. Do you censor all history books next and add all pronouns available? Don’t forget to include the LGBTQIA2S+ community. The what? LGTBQIA2S+ is an acronym for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer and/or Questioning, Intersex, Asexual, Two-Spirit, and the countless affirmative ways in which people choose to self-identify. Also, basketballs and raccoons.

Roald Dahl will turn around in his grave. So will George Orwell.

All enlightened readers hate you.

The history of world literature is against you.

You are anti-art.

You are anti-freedom.

Art must be free. Art must be unsafe. Art must be controversial. Art must have dangerous words and ideas in it. Otherwise, it’s not art.

You are afraid of books. Afraid of ideas. You condescend to everyone by thinking you should be the judge of what is said and read.

Here’s how art is supposed to work: Someone writes a book. They write it with passion, with abandon, with honesty and lyricism and even a bit of recklessness. It is of their time, using the words of their time. Allan Ginsberg’s famous poem Howl rings a bell? No? I figured.

Readers respond to this recklessness, this abandon, this rawness, this timeliness. The only books that ever mattered to anyone are raw, are unbridled, are risky, and timely. Then, if a parent or teacher reads the book to a kid, and there’s a part that’s risky or controversial, discussions can be held. If the book is old, then the words and sentiments of that time can be taken into account.

It’s not hard.

That is how we learn.

All art has context.

All art is born of its time. It reflects its time.

People who come to the art later can handle the context, the different words, the different attitudes. People can handle it because we are complex creatures capable of complex thoughts.

Censors think everyone is stupid.

Censors think it is their job to dumb down every piece of art till it says nothing to anyone.

George Orwell was right all along. Go read his book as long as it is not censored and find out that he predicted all this bullshit!

Fuck you, censors!

Me, an avid reader, author, writer, and all the people in the world who love books art.

A friend gave me a book filled with small phrases and truisms that are supposed to be inspirational. And they were. I read them all and promptly added the parts that the authors had left out. Those idioms are always a bit messed up. Like, people tell you to “take the bull by the horns,” but why? It is a bull! Where are you taking it? And if you are going to take it somewhere I am pretty sure you don’t drag it by the horns. The first role of bulls is to avoid the horns. They aren’t bicycle handlebars. They are made for disembowelling. Anyone telling you to take a bull by the horns is probably trying to have you murdered in a very lazy way and thinks you are an idiot. Might as well add: “Take the bull by the horns. Then grab a cobra by the fangs. Take Charles Manson by the balls. Still alive? Fine. Take poison by the liter. Take a bunch of racoons and a toaster in the bathtub with you. Seriously, are you still reading this?

I think it is a good thing to really analyze and fix these truisms because life is not simple or easily changed by small inspirational words. It is complicated. And hard. And sometimes ridiculous. Much like the truisms I ended up with. So I added my own endings into the book and when I was done I passed it to another friend going through a bad time of bullshit and she was like, “This is the most helpful book ever,” and I started to apologize for drawing in it but then she was like, “No, that is the part that made me feel better. No one wants to hear ‘Put on a happy face’ when you added ‘Put on the face of that guy who cheated on you with your best friend. Take his face and wear it around a little. Maybe wear it when you peek in your former best friend’s window at two a.m. Just a suggestion.'”

It was nice to think that I wasn’t the only one who needed a bit more, so I decided to share a few here with you. The truisms are in bold. The rest is my addition. I probably don’t need to clarify that.

Believe in your dreams. …. Unless it is that dream where you are stuck in traffic with three children in the car. They all constantly talk, fight, argue, scream and cry. Fuck that dream.

Only do what your heart tells you. …. Except really it is your brain that is telling you what you think your heart is saying. Your heart can’t think. So basically your brain is pretending to be your heart to manipulate you. So maybe do what your heart tells you but make sure your brain understands and agrees.

Life is like riding a bicycle. …. It is hard and sweaty and surprisingly tough on your genitals. Also, you are going to fall a lot. A lot!

Friends are everywhere. … So are ants. Watch where you are standing.

It is not where you take things from. It is where you take them to. …. But try telling the security guard at the grocery store when you shoplift chocolate and a bottle of red wine to enjoy in your car.

If your ship doesn’t come in, swim out to meet it. …. Except, if it is your ship, why is it out at sea without you? Did you not tie it up properly? Are you sure it is even your ship? Because if it is not, that’s piracy and it is frowned upon. I mean, you can barely even steal fish for cats without going to jail.

Live as if it’s the last day of your life. …. Except don’t, because that sounds awful. I would spend all day in tears if someone said I was going to die at midnight. That is like having to have fun at gunpoint. Maybe start slower. Like, live as if it is Saturday even when it is Monday morning and the alarm bell rings.

Be optimistic. See the glass as half-full. … Unless it is half-full of poison or urine. Although technically it would be better to have a glass half-full of urine rather than totally full. Unless it is half-full because you drank half of it because you didn’t know what it was. I think the point here is that we need smaller glasses and you shouldn’t drink things you haven’t poured yourself.

The best thing to hold on to in life is each other. … Or the remote. Or the phone. I am always losing those. But I almost never lose people, because I can just call them and be like, “Where are you? Also, have you seen the remote?” Unless I lose my phone. Then I have to scream until someone comes and calls me with their phone so I can find my phone. So I guess holding on to each other is good too in case you need your phone.

Do what you love even if it means you are broke. … Exceptions: gambling, heroin, prostitutes, alcohol, and most other fun things.

Aim high. … Because your blow dart will lose altitude over the distance to your enemies and you need to account for that. Also, wind directions.

You can fly. … But only metaphorically. You can’t actually fly. I don’t care how many mushrooms you have had. Get off the roof, idiot.

The world is your oyster. …. It is tough to get into and it will cut you if you don’t use the right knife. Also, it is slimier than expected but sometimes you get jewellery. Unless this truism means that you are the pearl and the world is the oyster that you live in? This would kind of make sense because pearls are technically just natural irritants and that is a pretty good description of human beings in the world. Or find me at the oyster buffet!

My candle burns at both ends. …. And that is how fires start. Also, you are dripping wax everywhere. This isn’t even how candles work. What are you doing?

It’s always too soon to quit. … Unless we are talking about smoking. Or spending all your money on lottery tickets. Or being a serial killer. Actually, skip this truism. I need more information.

Don’t look back. … Unless you are changing lanes. Then it is really important to look back. Maybe this should be changed to “Don’t be the asshole who just changes lanes without checking behind you.” Also, use your blinker.

April showers bring may flowers. … And also floodings. And mosquitos. And malaria. But you will have flowers, so that is something, I guess.

Build a ship before you build a bridge. … Or better yet, build a ship out of the bridge. Otherwise, you are just wasting lumber. Then charge everyone who needs to get across the now bridgeless body of water. TA-DA! Now you own a ferry service.

In every man a child is hidden. … Maybe not in every man. Just the one who ate a child. Stay away from that man. He seems dangerous.

You can move mountains. … But honestly, why would you want to? Seems like you can find a better use of your time. Learn how to knit or something. The mountains are fine where they are. I don’t want to have to buy new maps.

Follow your heart. …. But just metaphorically, because your heart is where you are, so technically you could just sit on your ass all day and be following your heart. Although it is nice to keep in mind, because when your partner is like, “HAVE YOU BEEN EATING CHOCOLATE ALL DAY?” you can say, “No. I have been following my heart. Literally.”