What if...to all the books I've read before?
On measurement, morality, memory, and other things that don't start with M
Quick note: This is not my 2022 book recap newsletter. It will come after. I promise. But I highly encourage you to read this first. One would not exist without the other. Okay, back to it!
Hello!
At last, 2022 is basically over. And so is the sixth year of me tracking, reviewing, and sharing all the books I read. But this year was different. In the past, I had a strict goal of 52 books — one per week — and measured my progress with each book. This meant that along with my silly little review, I also included a __/52 counting number. Aside from being consistently confusing (I regularly had people ask me why my rating scale included both a letter grade and a score out of 52), keeping count was a bummer for everyone involved.
I don’t blame or judge people for wanting to know the number. Our garbage culture attempts to turn everything from the things we watch to the steps we take into a score we can compare to others. Measure our productivity score against theirs, revel in our “goodness” if the number is higher, and self-flagellate if not. We emerge freshly primed to purchase shiny new things to bolster the hope or cure the shame that comes from this near-constant benchmarking. If I can banish this cursed gamification from at least one part of my consumption, why wouldn’t I?
Plus, I am out of responses to the phrase/compliment/comparison note, “damn, that’s impressive.” Is reading books impressive? Maybe if I were a toddler? Because I regularly peek behind the curtain at “Olivia’s Book Eatin’” show, and I assure you it is not impressive. People read for all sorts of reasons. Maybe I’m curious or hungry or looking for escape. Maybe I’m lonely or depressed, anxious or empty. Maybe I’m replacing an old vice with one that’s less self-destructive to consume in mass quantities. Diligence, work ethic, and self-control as shorthand for moral superiority? That is some puritanical nonsense straight out of The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism. None for me, thanks!
Plus, the books I’ve read are not an easy stand-in for my personality. Sure, opinions beget opinions. I tell you mine, and in turn, you continue shaping your own about me and everything else on our hell planet. That’s life. In the newsletter Dirt, Terry Nguyen writes about the EOY list as more than just another flavor of avatar: “I like to think that we are more than what we consume. Yet, in the midst of our suffocating content-media landscape, such lists might be a helpful gauge of intentional attention. What content and which artists deserve it?”
Now we’re on to something. In How To Do Nothing, Jenny Odell notes that she’s “learned that patterns of attention—what we choose to notice and what we do not—are how we render reality for ourselves, and thus have a direct bearing on what we feel is possible at any given time.” By paying close attention to what I’m paying attention to (stay with me), I have a better chance of living in a less shitty reality. So no, I don’t track to render my own consumption as a digestible unit of clout. I track in a perhaps futile attempt to remind myself what I think matters. So yeah. It’s about control, I guess.
Or maybe not. Over time, I’ve learned the value of keeping a personal archive. My memory is increasingly trash (more generously, there is just limited vacancy for cultural content), and this year, I set out to build myself a better memory helper tool. Rather, a pal built me a Notion template (thanks, Beth!) that I now keep current. I love playing book concierge, and my little archive, even if it only goes back to 2019, helps me access the dustiest corners of my brain to do that in a way that’s more considered.
Adding those last four years allowed me to see the value in measuring change. I used to think it was horrifying to have a public record of my own prior ignorance, but I’m working toward welcoming it. Even looking back at the tonal progression of my annual “here are the books I read” post is a wild ride. Cringe can be a sign of progress — I try to reflect on my own radicalization with compassion that aligns with how I’d treat that same growth in others. Abolition includes the opinion police in my own head.
The final reason I have not and will probably never put this project to bed is the same reason I write about anything: I fucking love any activity that makes me feel like I’m in a high school English class. Analyzing books was my gateway to analyzing everything. Sure, I write to reflect, to process, to remember, to place intention. But I also write to connect with others. Every lil’ blip about a book is me inviting you to join me in discussion, analysis, and everything in between. And lucky for us, capitalism hasn’t found a way to enumerate low-stakes literature gossip. Yet.
This newsletter brought to you by:
A Food For Life English muffin with peanut butter and Lyle’s Golden Syrup
Light anger upon realizing I may have been duped by Hair Story’s marketing. (I used a scalp brush! I really attempted to scrub! My hair still feels like greasy floam. It’s only been one wash, but SOS. If you’ve tried New Wash, or have something you like more, please share!)
Being reunited with my favorite reading buddy, tiny baby Creature cat.
Long live low-stakes literature gossip.