What I remember most is the texture. The tan Norgarhead chairs are old and battered, eventually sacrificed to generations of kitten paws. The coolness of crushed graham crackers and a glass of milk. Some pages are smooth, some are curved, some are brittle, and some are frayed. The books are too big and floppy, which can be inconvenient for small hands. I did it.

My first reading memory goes like this: getting up before the grownups at home, sitting in the comfiest chair reading a Tintin manga, with a perfect dessert handy. It’s a moment of independence born of the adults’ desire not to be woken at dawn by a young child hungry for stories. When I’ve read all the Tintin books in the house, I’ll read the same books over and over again, pick my favorites, get totally immersed in the rocket launch, and marvel at the giant mushrooms.

In some ways, when I read, I may be looking for this kind of experience: immersion, independence, solitude, comfort. But the way we read changes, and we grow and age as much as what we read – though I think it’s safe to say we don’t talk about it much.

I’ve been thinking about how we read thanks to–as predictably–some of the things I’ve read. Anne Helen Petersen’s newsletter “Cultural Studies” led me to Ezra Klein and Maryanne Wolf, author of “The Reader Comes Home: The Reading Brain in a Digital World.” A conversation between Maryanne Wolf and Ezra Klein started last month; the book is three years old. I read the transcript of the interview because I couldn’t focus on the podcast without my hands, and I haven’t planned a new cross-stitch yet. But I’ll read anything, anywhere, even lounging on the couch with my laptop when I’m supposed to be in bed.

Those are the details, but they’re not the ones Wolf talks about the most here; she talks more about how we read on paper versus screen, how we do deep reading versus skimming, and that’s not the same. Yes; refreshingly, these are useful skills. Talking about some of the technological changes in the way we read can be hard to sound like a technophobe who thinks social media will keep us from reading Dickens. That doesn’t help. Screens aren’t going away, and Wolf isn’t here to lecture us about them.

What she’s here to talk about is how it’s different. “The affordances of digital screens are really exciting. They help us navigate through vast amounts of information. Skimming is a very useful defense mechanism. We can process so much information,” she said. But it’s not the same as reading print: “The availability of print media favors giving, the allocation of time to words and concepts that we simply don’t have the same amount of time to process when we browse.”

Lots of good stuff in this interview – about attention, habits, and mindset, what we choose to focus on and browse, what we read on purpose and what we don’t, and how to incorporate reading into your life. It got me thinking that it’s not just what and how we read in terms of screen vs. book, internet vs. fiction, six-paragraph blog post vs. in-depth nonfiction. It’s about the role reading plays in our lives, and how and why we make time for it.

Again: it’s hard to get into these topics without sounding normative, and maybe even pedantic. But I think it’s worth thinking about why we do whatever we do, including–maybe especially!—our favorite things. Is reading a habit? A hobby? Do you do something because it feels good for you or because you feel you should? Is this an escape or an education? Lesson or way?

Probably these things. It’s a skill, and a vital one at that, when we’re young. It’s a subject in school and we have to read things we might not have chosen for ourselves. (I certainly wouldn’t have chosen “Of Mice and Men” from Steinbeck’s catalog in high school. But I still think of Bradbury’s “All Summer in a Day.”) In college, it was more of a focus, especially for those English among us majors (and variants). Maybe it becomes a job in elementary school first, maybe right up to graduate school. But there may be times when you don’t want to read another word, or don’t have the time to read a book you really want to read, or lose the will to pick up a book unless absolutely necessary.

People want this feeling to be temporary. But I don’t remember reading for fun in college—except for the summer, when I briefly worked at Barnes & Noble and took advantage of my employee discount (or, more likely, went to the Strand to buy some used, cheaper stuff).

Reading is like an old friend that comes and goes in your lifeThe corrected version of the article is below:

One thing I remember vividly about reading is the texture. The old, battered Norgarhead chairs with their tan upholstery, which had endured the scratches and nips of generations of kittens. The coolness of crushed graham crackers and a glass of milk. Some pages were smooth, others were curved, some brittle and others frayed. The books were too big and floppy, which could be inconvenient for small hands. But I loved it.

My earliest memory of reading goes like this: getting up before the grown-ups in the house, sitting in the comfiest chair with a Tintin comic book and a perfect snack within reach. It was a moment of independence born of the adults’ desire not to be woken up at dawn by a young child hungry for stories. When I had read all the Tintin books in the house, I would read them again and again, picking my favorites, getting totally immersed in the rocket launch, and marveling at the giant mushrooms.

In some ways, when I read, I may still be looking for this kind of experience: immersion, independence, solitude, comfort. But the way we read changes, and we grow and age as much as what we read – though I think it’s safe to say we don’t talk about it much.

I’ve been thinking about how we read thanks to a few things I’ve read lately. Anne Helen Petersen’s newsletter “Culture Study” led me to a conversation between Ezra Klein and Maryanne Wolf, author of “Reader, Come Home: The Reading Brain in a Digital World.” The book is three years old, but the conversation was last month. I read the transcript of the interview because I couldn’t focus on the podcast without occupying my hands, and I hadn’t planned a new cross-stitch yet. But I’ll read anything, anywhere, even lounging on the couch with my laptop when I should be in bed.

Those are the details, but they’re not the ones Wolf talks about the most. She talks more about how we read on paper versus screen, how we do deep reading versus skimming, and how they’re not the same thing. Yes, these are useful skills. Talking about some of the technological changes in the way we read can be hard without sounding like a technophobe who thinks social media will keep us from reading Dickens. That doesn’t help. Screens aren’t going away, and Wolf isn’t here to lecture us about them.

What Wolf is here to talk about is how it’s different. “The affordances of digital screens are really exciting. They help us navigate through vast amounts of information. Skimming is a very useful defense mechanism. We can process so much information,” she said. But it’s not the same as reading print: “The availability of print media favors giving, the allocation of time to words and concepts that we simply don’t have the same amount of time to process when we browse.”

There’s a lot of good stuff in this interview – about attention, habits, and mindset, what we choose to focus on and browse, what we read on purpose and what we don’t, and how to incorporate reading into your life. It got me thinking that it’s not just what and how we read in terms of screen vs. book, internet vs. fiction, six-paragraph blog post vs. in-depth nonfiction. It’s about the role reading plays in our lives, and how and why we make time for it.

Again: it’s hard to get into these topics without sounding normative, and maybe even pedantic. But I think it’s worth thinking about why we do whatever we do, including–maybe especially!—our favorite things. Is reading a habit? A hobby? Do you do something because it feels good for you or because you feel you should? Is this an escape or an education? Lesson or way?

It’s probably all of these things. It’s a skill, and a vital one at that, when we’re young. It’s a subject in school, and we have to read things we might not have chosen for ourselves. (I certainly wouldn’t have chosen “Of Mice and Men” from Steinbeck’s catalog in high school. But I still think of Bradbury’s “All Summer in a Day.”) In college, it was more of a focus, especially for those of us who majored (and varied) in English. Maybe it becomes a job, from elementary school to graduate school. But there may be times when you don’t want to read another word, or don’t have the time to read a book you really want to read, or lose the will to pick up a book unless absolutely necessary.

People want this feeling to be temporary. But I don’t remember reading for fun in college—except for the summer, when I briefly worked at Barnes & Noble and took advantage of my employee discount (or, more likely, went to the Strand to buy some used, cheaper stuff).

Reading is like an old friend