“She even insisted on reading books or manuscripts when he had guests,” the report continues. My husband isn’t planning to leave me because of my reading habits. I like to think my bookish nature is part of why he likes me in the first place. But I do read when we have guests, sometimes. Or while we watch movies, or play board games, or ride the train. Once I even read at a wedding (before the ceremony started, I’m not a total monster). I credit my ability to pick up a book in just about any situation with the fact that I chew through volumes at what my brother-in-law once endearingly called “an alarming rate.” There’s almost no condition in which I cannot read, and I always have a book on me just in case. Of course, I don’t read when it’s blatantly rude. If we’re at a restaurant together I’m not going to reach under the table and pull out the latest Tana French mystery. If you get up from the table for a few minutes, though, don’t be surprised if you return to see me hurriedly finishing my page before you sit back down. I’m a rule follower, but I’m content to break the social norm that says reading should be done in solitude. Reading in public is great. It’s a way for me to recharge at my most introverted. Sometimes a book can even be a conversation starter. Who needs small talk when you can discuss literature with an acquaintance instead? Sometimes if I’m hanging out in a small group, or even tucked into a shadowed corner at a party, I’ll sneak in a couple of pages. People often seem, if not offended, at least a little bit perplexed by my unabashed reading around them. But at the end of the day, is it not similar to pulling out a cell phone during a conversational low moment? The medium might be different, but the function is much the same. It’s a break from the flow of socializing without actually leaving the party. What makes a smartphone so different from a hardback anyway? Is it sheer size that implies closing off from human interaction? The perceived self-seriousness of reading? Immersing yourself in a book does feel like more of an undertaking than a quick thumb graze through Twitter. Yet, I maintain that I should be allowed to read just about anywhere people feel comfortable pulling out their phones. If I can watch a few Instagram Stories while hanging out, why can’t I also digest a few sentences of my current book-in-progress? I’m not going to apologize for using books as a social crutch. At least not until society swears off Candy Crush while our dinner dates are in the bathroom.
