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Confession of a Voracious Non-ReaderMarch 20, 2006 As a kid my nose was always in a book. I made a tent with the bedspread of my lower-bunk bed and read under it with a flashlight. When I went into the woods, it was usually to find a tree that I could climb and read in without being bothered. I'm a writer. I've reviewed books. I've sold books. I've written a novel. I make my living as an editor. I hardly ever read for pleasure any more. It's not that I don't have the time -- though that might be my excuse -- but that I've got more interesting things to do with the time I've got: barn chores, exercise my horse, read e-mail, post responses to the e-lists I'm on, chop vegetables, take Rhodry for a walk, play FreeCell . . . About three dozen people so far have read my first, unpublished novel, The Mud of the Place. Their ages range from early 20s to late 70s. So far everybody has liked it; many have waxed seriously enthusiastic, and many have given me useful comments about it. Several of these people have told me that they hardly ever read. For more than three years I've been trying to find first an agent, then a publisher, for The Mud of the Place. So far, no luck. What to say about this? The current, March/April 2006, issue of Poets & Writers includes an article, "NEA Responds to 'Reading at Risk.'" NEA stands for National Endowment for the Arts. Dana Gioia, NEA chairman, is quoted as saying, "The decline in reading among every segment of the adult population reflects a general collapse in advanced literacy." Maybe. I'm not sure what "advanced literacy" is. I think there's more to it. I think the decline in reading among various segments of the adult population reflects a dearth of anything worth reading. Which is to say: It's out there, but most of us can't find it. The stuff we need, the stuff we're dying to read, the stuff we may die without reading isn't being published, and if it is, it never appears at the neighborhood bookstore -- if we're lucky enough to have one. If we're brave enough to walk in. I spent years working in a community where words saved lives, words saved sanity. We knew books were important. In theory I know there are books like that out there today, but I wouldn't walk to Gay Head on the off chance that I might find one of them. Maybe the decline in reading reflects "a general collapse in advanced literacy," whatever that is. If "advanced literacy" means you read stuff because it's in the canon, because it's good for you, I'm not at all sure I'll mourn its passing. I think not enough people have had their lives changed by a book, and if they have, they don't know where to find another one like that. Neither do I. My life has never been changed by the prose of a technically flawless MFA graduate who wouldn't know a moral conundrum if s/he met one on the road. I'm looking for books that can disturb my dreams without putting me to sleep.
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