Yes, the headline question above is an intentionally sarcastic framing in response to this truly idiotic tweet by a garbage human. But apparently, this “men against fiction” phenomenon is a real problem according to recent data, such that Dazed Magazine felt compelled to extrapolate why.

It is a cultural hangover that persists. A “cult of productivity is still imposed more on men than women,” says Dr Alistair Brown, Assistant Professor of Digital Humanities and Modern Literature at Durham University. “[Non-fiction] seems to have more immediate or meaningful returns on the investment of time.” Consequently, men buy more: in 2023, men accounted for 55 per cent of non-fiction book sales, Nielsen BookData tells Dazed.
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Could reading stories offer an alternative route through the masculinity crisis? By creating “a safe space for allowing oneself to feel, with no strings attached,” Professor Keen suggests that reading fiction is the diametric opposite of the stale stoicism of the manosphere.

Now, I’m sure entire research papers, books, college courses, self-help courses and more have been written by other professionals about the benefits of reading. Several are linked in the article above. But the way in which this New Toxic Caveman Masculinity sets itself against reading (and thereby, women, as in so many other ways) is so laughable as to be self-parody, which is why I couldn’t help screen shot that tweet above. Could this idiotic worldview, maybe, possibly, have something to do with men’s decreasing grades and college graduation rates? Hmm, maybe they’re macho-ing their way right out of the future all on their own!

So…
What makes men so afraid of being seen as bookish? What are they hiding from?

How do those of us men who do read books make the case to the men of the future that books are good, actually?

What is it about nonfiction books vs novels that better attracts those men who do read? What are men missing by choosing that reading diet?

Recently, on a bit of a break, I decided to finally tackle one of those All Time Great Books that’s been on my to-read list for years and years, Invisble Man by Ralph Ellison. Also during this break, I took a three hour train ride from Portland to Seattle, which seemed like a very suitable environment in which to do some Serious Reading. About 100 pages in (out of ~580p in my edition), my train neighbor noticed my book and asked how it was going and what I thought — a conversation starter that book readers normally live for!

The best I could do was sadly little, along the lines of, “Well, it’s pretty dense, and I feel like I’m just getting started. I’m really curious where it’s headed and how it’ll all come together though. And obviously the writing is impressive.” You know, the utterly meaningless things you say when a book is a bit over your head and you’re not quite sure what to make of it.

Having finished the book this week, I am incredibly glad I read it. It certainly heads lots of places by the end. It’s packed with ideas about race in America, deftly addressing so many situations, power dynamics, social structures, political dilemmas, so many of which are still incredibly relevant even 70 years later. Plus, it’s funny and weird and episodic like an epic poem crossed with a satirical travelogue. What a read.

And yet, I still feel like I got maybe sixty percent of this book. Like I need to take a college seminar with weeks of accompanying lectures to really get the full experience and understanding I wish I could just naturally absorb from a book like this, but can’t do on my own.

Part of me thinks I should have saved this book for a context in which I really could read it that actively and deeply, in order to better appreciate it. The other part is glad I tried and got what I could with my 2024 brain, and maybe some day I will read it again even wiser and more ready to receive it. Who knows what the future holds? But since I’m maybe not equipped to ask super deep questions about this book specifically (or just too intellectually insecure to try, considering how many much smarter folks have written on the topic, I’m sure), I’m curious about Big Hard Books in general.

So…
How far do you push yourself with the books you read, and how often do you read Big Hard Books? Should we all push ourselves more, more often?

What’s the “right amount” of tough reading to keep yourself sharp and stimulated?

What’s the last really hard book you read and had a great experience?

Was there one you failed at? How did that feel?

At least the books whose contents *I* only vaguely remember are more neatly organized.

A desire to spend more time engaging with the vast trove of ideas and information we encounter everyday drove the creation of this site. The intended purpose: to make some of it stick, or extract more value than the momentary intellectual rush of reading things on the internet.

Apparently lots of people experience that gap between input and retention, and not just with articles that pop up in our feeds every day.

Surely some people can read a book or watch a movie once and retain the plot perfectly. But for many, the experience of consuming culture is like filling up a bathtub, soaking in it, and then watching the water run down the drain. It might leave a film in the tub, but the rest is gone.

Wow does that metaphor ring true.

How bad are you at remembering the facts, details, plots, or characters from the media you enjoy?

What tends to stick? What doesn’t?
What makes some things stick and others not?

Early Kindles succeeded at being both revolutionary and revolting at once.

In Aeon magazine, writer Craig Mod reflects on his initial enthusiasm for digital books, and how that enthusiasm has cooled, sending him back to the physical versions for a whole host of reasons.

It was an incredible user experience, full of perceived value, delightful in its absurdity. Most importantly, using the device in these ways felt like an investment in the future of books and reading. Each Kindle book I bought was a vote with the wallet: yes – digital books! Every note I took, every underline I made was contributing to a vast lattice collection of reader knowledge that would someday manifest in ways beautiful or interesting or otherwise yet unknowable. This I believed. And implicit in this belief was a trust – a trust that Amazon would innovate, move the experience forward unpredictably, meaningfully, and delightfully. This belief – that Amazon was going to teach the old guard new tricks – kept me buying and reading and engaging.

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From 2009 to 2013, every book I read, I read on a screen. And then I stopped. …It was a stark reminder that pliancy of media invites experimentation. When media is too locked down, too rigid, when it’s too much like a room with most of the air sucked out of it, stale and exhausting, the exploration stops. And for the intersection of books and digital there’s still much exploration to be had.

In his case, it’s not the lack of willingness or enthusiasm for the idea that has turned him off. It’s the lack of momentum on exploring even newer possibilities.

What differences have you perceived in your digital reading vs digital reading, in terms of reading experience, or how you engage with the material?

What are the most meaningful strengths of each format? Do any of these make you a die-hard advocate for one or the other?

If in another 20 years they were to stop physical book printing outright, what would you miss most? What would we lose as a culture?