“Whether through atrophy or apathy, a generation of students is reading fewer books. They might read more as they age—older adults are the most voracious readers—but the data are not encouraging. The American Time Use Survey shows that the overall pool of people who read books for pleasure has shrunk over the past two decades. A couple of professors told me that their students see reading books as akin to listening to vinyl records—something that a small subculture may still enjoy, but that’s mostly a relic of an earlier time.”—American journalist Rose Horowitch, “The Elite College Students Who Can’t Read Books,” The Atlantic, December 2024
I well remember the shock all over an English
teacher’s face in my parochial high school in the mid-1970s when one of her
students confessed that he’d never read a book all the way through. When she
was finally able to recover her composure, she demanded to know how
he’d managed to get through 11 years of elementary and secondary school without
accomplishing what she saw as a basic educational task.
My high school classmate would have plenty of company
these days. Rose Horowitch’s report from the current groves of academe begins
with a student telling a teacher in the literary humanities course at my
college alma mater, Columbia University—an institution considerably more
selective than my high school way back when—that she, too, had never read a
book cover to cover.
Columbia is hardly the only college facing this
dilemma. Most of the 33 academics contacted by Horowitch related similar
experiences.
So, what gives? The article offers several reasons for
this, including:
*Electronic devices that compete for attention with
apps such as TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube.
*New educational initiatives such as No Child Left
Behind and Common Core that led to short informational passages that mimic
standardized tests, rather than longer texts.
*Shifts in values rather than skill sets—i.e.,
students can still read long books, but they don’t want to.
*Jobs and extracurricular activities that sap the time
they need to read in depth.
*Identity politics that makes young readers less
inclined to tackle the thinking of writers far away in place and time.
*Grade inflation that doesn’t penalize students for
failing to keep up with the course load.
I read with particular interest an admission that
Andrew Delbanco, a longtime American Studies professor at the school, that, in
now teaching a seminar on short works in American literature rather than a full
survey course, he had dispensed with Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick in favor
of the author’s Billy Budd, Benito Cereno, and “Bartleby, the
Scrivener.”
For my American lit survey course back in the day, my
class had to read these shorter works and the epic novel. Our professor
urged us, if we had time, to get a jump on Melville’s stab at the Great
American Novel: “It’s a long whaling expedition,” he joked.
I finished reading this article right after listening
to a podcast on the English novelist Anthony Powell, who created a 12-novel
sequence chronicling more than four decades in 20th-century life, A Dance to the Music of Time. Powell’s style is not daunting, and believe it
or not, readers years ago managed to plow through most, if not all, of this
work.
But it’s inconceivable to me that many readers today
will make it through just one of his novels, let alone all of it.
It should also be said courses in STEM (science,
technology, engineering, and math) have made the appeal of humanities course offering
mass immersion in reading less lucrative.
That high school classmate of mine, for instance? He entered
the armed forces, where he learned computer sciences—and ended up making
considerably more money, after he left the military, than fellow high school
graduates who took the time to make it through one long book after another.
(The image accompanying this post, if you haven't guessed it from the guy with the long hair, is a relic from a bygone era, in more ways than one. It shows a Shimer
College student reading John Stuart Mill's On Liberty under a tree on
the school's original campus in Mount Carroll, IL. The photograph was published
in the school's 1973-1974 catalog. I hope that this seminal work of political
science, at any rate, continues to be read in its entirety, but I’m not betting
on it.)
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