Thinking about reading

We believe reading to be a Good Thing.

Indeed, we believe reading to be THE key, the primary tool for student and professor alike. We take reading for granted: it's a skill that people learn in elementary school, a habit that people at universities imbue with virtue. We seem to assume it's a pretty much universal capability in our society, though in fact a large proportion of the population doesn't read much.

I think it's pretty likely that none of the incoming freshmen has ever read a book of this sort, and that very few will have managed to read this one. We need to think about what this means: why active reading is such hard work, what can possibly be done to encourage the habit, and how teachers should think about the reading they assign.

We assign material to be read and assimilated, with the tacit assumption that students have the skills of assimilation, and the further (just as tacit) assumption that they value the activity as we [affect to] do. Neither assumption is true of most.

Most students pick up reading survival skills --they go through the motions with words on a page, wield highlighters to mark what seems portentious or critically important, and attempt to commit to [short-term] memory what they believe will enable them to pass exams. But most aren't really intellectually engaged. And very few are active readers.

One necessity for active reading is to have places to put what one takes in. This is true in the literal sense of having some effective means to make notes (record for later consideration that which is/seems/becomes important), and in the virtual sense of having the mental filespace ready to receive, process, and integrate the new information as it flows in. Again, these are skills we tacitly assume, but do very little to assist and support the evolution of. And evolve they must, since they are individual and personal accomplishments which one refines throughout life.


I've had several conversations with colleagues frustrated with the task of reading Dyson, or trepidacious themselves about discussing the book. I've said to a number of people that the book is an object lesson in difficulties that students will encounter throughout their university years and beyond: how to make sense of what seems at first to be difficult, intractable, unassimilable. In the case of Infinite in All Directions there's such a farrago of subjects and allusions, spanning so many fields (most of them unfamiliar to non-scientists) that it's difficult to say what the book is about, beyond the glories of diversity. I suspect that most of us have chosen to fasten upon a part of the book that connects more or less directly with what we already know or think (that's certainly what most of the reviewers seem to have done, and it's a good tried-and-true strategy). I'm still wrestling with how to get beyond that approach myself.
Beginning a book
A reader needs to give a book a chance --needs to read it long enough to begin to see its point. Often enough I don't do that with books I pick up. I may sample a few pages at random to catch the flavor and wait to be caught by something, wait to have the interest piqued, and often enough I don't find anything and put the book down again. That's not fair to the author, I guess, and I'd like to have a less scattershot method for finding my next book. I'd like to have a better understanding of just what it is that does grab my attention.