Slow Reading
Kaboom! Blam! Explosion. Murder of elected officials. Trade wars. Fashions of Met Gala. Current headlines lend themselves to skipping, scanning, cursory reading. Hyper-reading. Few of us click to the full story, few delve into in-depth analyses and reports. We hover at the surface of the news, fake, real – or AI-generated – flit from one to another, searching for the next dopamine hit. In the end, we are left tired, anxious and confused.
But there is another way of reading. One that allows for a better appreciation of a literary work, one that promotes attention and empathy. As an antidote to our crazy world, I suggest slow reading.
Slow reading is not to be confused with close reading. Close reading is a form of literary analysis in which a text is analyzed at the level of meaning of single words and phrases. The goal of close reading to notice, describe and interpret details of the text that are already there rather than to impose your point of view. Every claim about the text should be directly supported by evidence in the text. It is usually done on short texts or fragments of longer pieces, not on entire stories or novels. One goal of close reading is to see facets of the text that we may not have noticed before: its structure, vocabulary, language, imagery and metaphors. Close reading can be applied to literary, political or commercial texts. Perhaps the first close reading in history was applied to the Bible: in Genesis, why was the second day of creation “good” if all the other days were “very good?” A question pondered by Talmudic scholars for millennia.
Slow reading is an extension of close reading but applied to the whole work and not in the same granular detail. Both are an exercise in attention: to form, to syntax, to the writer’s lexicon, to their tone, to their intentions. And to grammatical structures: phrases, clauses, fragments, tenses, modes. Reading closely, trying to get to the bottom of the word usage, we get nearer to what the writer was trying to convey. First, we determine the frame of the text: its provenance, its place in literary history and historical time. We determine what is left in and what is left out of the text. Next, we study the form of the text: what genre is it? What is its visible structure? Who is the narrator? We pay attention to the use of metaphor and allusion; we parse the diction. The next steps involve the determination of the timelines, order, duration, and velocity of the piece; and of plot structure and devices. Last, we ponder the desire of the piece: what has reading this particular text satisfied in our psyche? Having read a text, a reader emerges a different person than she was before reading and it is this change that deserves our attention.
Slow reading, in contrast, applies to whole works. How much and how deeply you wish to delve into the work depends entirely on the reader. I do not propose that we engage in literary criticism at the level of close reading. But our enjoyment and understanding of a literary text can be greatly enhanced if we borrow some tricks from the close reading toolbox and engage with the text more fully. Read slowly, reread if need be – learning this new way of appreciating texts takes time. Stop and reflect. Read a sentence or two aloud, if the meaning escapes you. Read with a pencil. Underline what vexed or perplexed you, circle beautiful phrases and words that you love, write observations on the margins. Mark words you do not understand (and even some of the ones you think you do) and look them up in a good dictionary (I recommend the Oxford English Dictionary; it not only lists definitions and etymology but also lists historical uses). Stop and ponder a beautiful turn of phrase or sentence. Keep a book journal: not to tally up the number of books you have read (à la Goodreads, another dopamine booster). How you read matters more than how much you read. Connect with the text at more than plot level; write your thoughts and reactions; write down phrases that you loved. Another good practice is to re-read the beginning after you read the ending and see how they speak to each other (what is the meaning of the green light at the end of the pier?) Try to answer some of the close reading questions but don’t get bogged down if you get stuck: there are no right answers, only your answers. Talk about the book with friends or teachers or writers themselves; listen carefully before you talk back. Evaluate your own reactions. Find books that relate to the book you are reading: The Handmaid’s Tale is a fantastic book on its own but you may want to read it in the context of other dystopian novels.
In her essay, “How Should One Read a Book?” Virginia Woolf writes: “Open your mind as widely as possible, then signs and hints of almost impossible fineness … will bring you into the presence of a human being unlike any other.” (1932). Scientific studies have shown that subjects who read literary fiction (as opposed to non-fiction and genre fiction) demonstrate higher levels of empathy. Slow reading allows us to inhabit others’ worlds, appreciate others’ vision of the world, and to develop curiosity and tolerance toward alternative viewpoints. We may not agree with Jane’s decision to leave Rochester the morning after their thwarted wedding but we can hear her out. We may wonder if there really was a Bengal tiger in that boat; reading with attention, we will find the answer. We may even get a glimpse at what makes Sally Rooney’s “normal” people tick. Slow reading is an antidote to our headline-driven and scandal-suffused media bites, all geared toward the lowest common denominator. It makes space and time for an emotional connection with, however fictional, characters. It is this ability to walk in somebody else’s shoes for a thousand pages (Moby Dick) or for a few stanzas (Anne Carson’s poetry) that develops our emotional side, makes us kinder, nicer, more feeling people. Everyone can find something that resonates in the reading of literary fiction. Every story, every novel, every poem has as many versions as there are readers because a reader is an active instrument for the creation of the text. Plus one more — the original story with its original intention as meant by its author.
There is no wrong way to read a work of literary fiction like there is no wrong way of looking at the Mona Lisa: I see only a self-satisfied smirk on her face and I have never been enthralled by her while others may see childish playthings in the Matisse cut-outs I revere for their colours and boldness. We are all correct, just like the readers who spend time paying attention to a literary text cannot be wrong even when their interpretations of the text are polar opposites. Discussing these differences begets a dialogue and, hopefully, mutual respect. Slow reading takes time, yes, but don’t all good things worth anything take time? And patience. And discipline.
Read with understanding and a discerning ear. Read slowly. Be patient. Read closely, if you are so inclined. You will thank me after you do.
Born in Poland, Margaret Nowaczyk is a pediatric clinical geneticist and a professor at McMaster University and DeGroote School of Medicine. Her short stories and essays have appeared in Canadian, Polish and American literary magazines and anthologies. She lives in Hamilton, ON, with her husband and two sons. Visit her website at www.margaretnowaczyk.ca.
