I received some early Valentine's Day gifts over the weekend. Among the readers who answered my call for thoughts about reading in public was John Maruskin, who offered tough love: "I think you're paying too much attention to yourself; give more attention to the book." Great advice. So I tried, and nearly succeeded, though the experiment was flawed because I happened to be in Manhattan. Brandishing a book in New York is like reading in public with training wheels.
Then, on Saturday, I was riding the 86th Street crosstown bus when I heard a man reading out loud to his voluntary audience--a female companion--as well as an obviously involuntary crowd, in whose faces I read something else entirely. Suddenly I realized that if you really want to become a pariah, reading Emerson silently in a Vermont supermarket checkout line pales in comparison to reading, aloud and at length, from a book on public transit. I wasn't tempted to ask him to stop, though I'll confess I did momentarily consider thanking him for his contribution to this week's column.
But I'm trying to give more attention to the book here, so let's return to our primary question: How do you feel about reading in public?
Lori Kauffman of Brookline Booksmith, Brookline, Mass., considered the advantages of urban settings: "Maybe this is just from living in Cambridge and working in Brookline, where it sometimes seems as if half of the population is in school and the other half is teaching them, but when I'm in public it's odd for me not to see people reading! Especially on the bus or subway. I think one of the best parts of living in a city with public transportation is that it provides a good excuse to read everyday--I actually look forward to my commute! (By the way, I find that an excellent test of how good a book is is how close I come to missing my stop because I'm too engrossed in what I'm reading.)"
It's not always easy, however. Julie Leonard of Troubadour Books, Boulder, Colo., noted that her "teenage daughters wonder why it is that a person sitting in a public place like the cafeteria, reading, is assumed to want someone to come up and start talking to them. Most annoying of all: the person who interrupts their reading to ask, 'What are you reading?' Being polite types, they resist the temptation to answer, 'Nothing any more, since you butted in."
Susan Weis of breathe books, Baltimore, Md., shared something that happened at the Winter Institute in Salt Lake City: "A fellow bookstore person and I took a long walk around the deserted city on Sunday afternoon. One of the few places open was a Carl's Jr. There was a woman in the window reading a paperback. Both my friend and I slowed down and took notice . . . Did we know her? After all she was reading a book and we just came from a book show--we must know her! We didn't, but we felt so close to her and even spoke about the scene later because we know what it's like to sit in a window and read. We felt so close to this anonymous woman, almost as if she was a friend."
The response most in keeping with the spirit of the upcoming holiday (Valentine's, not Friday the 13th) came from Ellen Stimson: "You make it sound almost salacious, which makes it even more appealing. How does one stand being in public without a book? This is the only defense people in small towns have in the school parking lot, at the coffee shop, or in any line anywhere. You need them less in the safe anonymity of the city, so naturally they are more ubiquitous there as a result. No one cares. No one probably cares in the small towns either. After all, my defense is protecting them from the requisite interaction too. I never go out without the armor of a book.
"And how does one make snap judgments about other people at the pool or on the plane unless you can surreptitiously sneak a look at what they are reading? I love thinking about how their book matches, or doesn't, their clothes and other accoutrements. Oh Bob, take the book. Since you seem to think it is forbidden it might be even better for you."
Ya gotta love that theory. Happy Valentine's Day reading everywhere.--Robert Gray (column archives available at Fresh Eyes Now)