Reading Serially
Dear Reader,
No, that isn’t a typo. I didn’t intend to write “Reading Seriously,” however lovely that might sound. I mean reading in series.
There are, in fact, two ways of reading in series, the one a sort of subset of the other. I’ll deal with the smaller subset first.
To give an example you might try out, observe Sally Rooney’s absolute flex “Even if you beat me.” There’s the offhanded, “Oh, I’m not really that talented and this is a kind of nerd sub-realm that’s completely unimportant in the grand scheme of things.” And then there’s the finishing—"I will burn you all ALIVE.” Neither of those are actual quotes, I might add, but they account for the delicious ferociousness of the essay’s finish. As I’ve known a few college debaters myself (I was not one), none of this essay surprised me, but whooboy is it a fun read.
I actually understand Rooney’s levelling up. There’s an unmistakable If you come at the King, you better not miss. Your eyes narrow—you’re about to go scorched earth on the fools who dared come at you. You’ve prepped for this. Your blood pressure doesn’t rise. There’s a perversely delighted smile on your face (or buried in your chest). It’s a completely cool rage that’s upon you, and you lock into the zone.
Many competitive people have experienced this to some degree. Sports commentator and media entrepreneur Bill Simmons frequently talks about “irrational confidence guys,” most commonly about basketball players, ones who are the sixth or twelfth man. These players occasionally “get hot” and hit enough shots to support their delusions of grandeur. (That the ones being discussed are often those playing in the NBA, perhaps that’s not quite the best phrasing.) But I’m not talking about the occasional getting hot or being the biggest fish in a small pond, though those are similar territories. I’m talking about being the best in a professional environment.
My shared experience with Rooney is related to test prep, but not in the way you’d think, the way my book’s title might suggest. (Let’s just say the most important word in that is the first word after the colon. It is a pointed title, to be sure, just not in the way most people read it.) No, my experience occurred when the ACT came after students of mine for supposed cheating, not just once, but twice in my career. This isn’t a Varsity Blues scandal. Those kids earned their scores. And when the ACT came after those students (and by extension, me) with an unjust, fully anti-American attack—you’re guilty; prove your innocence—one that’s based on pseudoscience, bad math, and twisted logic (someday philosophers will have to account for the fact that they have incuriously allowed the ACT to also produce a test of critical thinking)—I perfectly cackled. You come at the King, you best not miss.
If you want more of my sensation, read Rooney’s piece. And frankly, read it anyway. It flips and rolls and turns precisely as a master debater might work her words and audience. You not only get a sense of her experience, you get a sense of experiencing her on stage. It’s masterful, in its own way.
And once you’ve read it, you might read Becca Rothfeld’s essay “Normal Novels,” which is a review of Sally Rooney’s two recent novels. (I write “might” instead of “should” only because some of the commentary is for more mature readers. I mention this not to be prudish, but because I know some of my readers are younger and also some are reading this post as a family. Rothfeld is writing for an adult readership. Another great option if you still wanted to use this with a younger crowd would be to skip over the second-to-last section that opens “If Rooney’s books have true precursors.” You’ll miss some of Rothfeld’s critique, truly enough, but that’s better than missing all of it. Her writing is strong enough to hold up after the abridgement.)
Aside from how well it sequentially unfolds after “Even if you beat me,” I commend “Normal Novels” to you because it presents insight into how a book critic reads. As I will not be writing on “Reading Like a Book Critic” in this space—perhaps elsewhere someday, but not here as it requires more research than I can do right now, not least because I’m not a book critic myself—Rothfeld’s essay serves as an excellent example of book reviewing. It’s wicked fun.
Rooney, then Rothfeld. That’s your sequence. Shot – Chaser, if you prefer.
You don’t have to do those pieces, of course. I didn’t even provide you with questions. This is because I think they quite capably will produce conversation without my mediation. I chose them as they are different from those I’ve suggested before, and because they work only in one direction.
Within this subset of serial reads, there’s a particular order. Sometimes this order can be debated. I see you, Chronicles of Narnia fans. In fact, in my subscriber newsletter on Thursday, I noted that there’s a debate on which book of Robin McKinley’s Damar series should be read first. And really, for the two short stories and two novels set in that world, the only truly wrong way to read them is to read “The Stagman” first. That short story should go last.
Serial reads in this sense can also be about helpful sequencing of ideas. Friday’s post, if I can get it tamed by then, will explore this idea a bit more within an area of nonfiction. You might also think about this type of serial reading in terms of scaffolding reads, if you prefer. But I tend to think of this type of serial reading as being more directly concerned with this following that, whereas scaffolding can be more generically helpful and not so narrowly specified. Indeed, for those who prefer different terms for related-yet-distinct things, we could specify this type of serial reading by calling it sequential reading.
The bigger category of serial reading, similar to the one described above, is that a person reads one book at a time. You start a book, you finish the book. And only then can you move on to another book.
Admittedly, some serial readers are not serial in a strict sense. If you happen to be in school of any form, you might be assigned several books at once for various classes. But for their personal reads, serial readers are not juggling several books at once. One book, get it done. Then you can pick another one.
A serial reader might quit a book prior to finishing it, but that book will not be put aside for later. It won’t be returned to after a different, more desired book is read. It will instead be completely quit. Incompleteness is only allowed in the sense of a complete laying aside.
Serial reading provides a deep dive into a singular work. Essentially, there are no outside reading distractions to interrupt your meditation upon this single author’s writing. Unless you’re peeking into a dictionary for a stray word, you’re simply not reading anything else. Here, order doesn’t matter in any specified way. Order is simply that when the book in hand is finished, then you can select a book, any other book, and proceed to read that one.
Serial readers often describe their experience as calmer, more focused. While some people are only occasional serial readers, perhaps in a moment of greater leisure, other serial readers will not read any other way. They will, in fact, claim they cannot. This phenomenon seems to be more consistent in fiction readers than in nonfiction ones, so it may have something to do with juggling multiple narratives and character names. Regardless, if someone is a self-declared lifelong serial reader, I can attest from personal experience that it’s best to allow them their preferred approach without attempting to change them.
If you’ve never tried reading serially, particularly the one-at-a-time variety, I might suggest giving it a whirl sometime. It isn’t the only way to read, whether fiction or nonfiction, but it does offer a chance for a different kind of reading meditation.
Happy reading to you all,
Kreigh
P.S. I hope someone else had this terrible joke come to mind, “Reading cereal-ly ,” and then imagined someone reading their box of Cheerios while eating a bowl of them. Homophone puns are the best and wurst.