the written word
... and my consumption of it. If we (and I use this not in the presumptuous/royal sense but in the you, reader, and I, Sam, sense) have ever been someplace to which I brought a book, you may have noticed I set it on the table cover-down. This may have come up because you wanted to see what I was reading and had to physically handle the book to get a look at the title, or it may be because you are completely attuned to your surroundings and can recall small details. Whichever. As it happens, I only really realized I did this yesterday.
It was one of those epiphanies, though, in which the sight of a friend turning my book over to give the cover a look triggered countless other flip-book-over moments, and even hints of the anxiety that must have caused the formation of the habit/compulsion in the first place. Basically, I'm pretty sure I'm embarrassed by a combination of 1. what I'm reading and 2. how the cover was designed relative to what the book is actually about. Thus, by always, compulsively, setting books on surfaces cover side down, I interrupt any sort of nascent judgment others may have been forming about me based on my reading material. Now there are exceptions: the Barack Obama book I'm in the middle of reading to sustain my faith in The Process has never been anything but face-up, even when I've fallen asleep reading it. However, it's a library hardcover, and so the actual cover of the thing is a textureless grey, and the title on the spine is worn off enough to make the text look like some kind of religious relic. This is not a problem. Books that cannot be for anything other than school, like math books, sit face-up in piles on my floor and desk; this may be a subconscious attempt to remember to actually read them one of these days. But in general, covers go down, ISBNs go up.
I realize that this "don't judge me by my book's cover" fear basically makes it sound like I don't trust anyone's judgment, but I think the issue is more complicated than that. Part of it may well be that I know sometimes a friend's or even a stranger's reading material helps me form an impression of them (and I suppose most everyone is guilty of this at one time or another--consider the contrasting images triggered by hearing about someone "reading the New Yorker", someone "reading US magazine", or someone "reading Lord of the Rings"). In other words, giving someone a clean look at your book jacket amounts to allowing them to know some information about you without having to ask; I don't feel comfortable with this process because I don't get to control what the other person is thinking when they see a book on my desk. And if you notice, this explanation is borne out by my need to describe and somehow justify whatever it is I'm reading as you (the reader again) pick up my book to look it over. Some of the fear may be leftover from a childhood during which I at times wished I was less noticeable. Being told by a parade of adults that I was awfully tall or well-spoken or whatever and never once finally figuring out what you're supposed to say back ("thank you"?) left me bereft of desire to stand out without trying. In a way, then, the glossy, colorful cover on that novel I'm reading seems to blare out my presence to others in the same way being a tall kid did; though I couldn't become physically shorter, I can hide the market-imaged part of my book and leave you only with the earth-tone synopsis/reviews that's too small to read upside-down and across a table. It's almost like I feel protected from having to answer questions by flipping the book over--you would have to really make an effort to engage me about it, at which point you'll have to sit through my actual opinion about the thing.
It was only maybe a couple years ago when I snapped out of it, so to speak, and recognized the importance of public impressions. Before that, I would readily admit to being pretty clueless about the external, believing that some sort of objective measure of character would allow me to get away with adolescent male "functionalism" in my attire and indeed lifestyle. Some of you may recall me freshman year, with my baggy jeans and godawful need for a serious haircut, both symptoms of this disregard for the possibility that other people had their own ability to see me as I actually looked. Having started to deal with more serious stranger-meeting, interviews, office appointments, and generally being in public places as an adult, I found I wanted to give people some guidance in how I wanted them to perceive me. Thus: hair, grooming, clothing, posture, lexicon were upgraded, but there were also cuts in acting like an ass (college people, be glad you didn't know me in high school; high school people, be glad you didn't know me in middle school; middle school people, I would be almost shocked and kind of pleased if you were reading this, and I want you to trust me that I'm now friendlier in person as well) and, generally, in losing control over the public self, a process managed effortlessly thanks to the subconscious. Thus, every act, even setting a book on the table, is part of this whole sort of... pageant (to get all history class intellectual word-appropriation on you) of daily life.
It was one of those epiphanies, though, in which the sight of a friend turning my book over to give the cover a look triggered countless other flip-book-over moments, and even hints of the anxiety that must have caused the formation of the habit/compulsion in the first place. Basically, I'm pretty sure I'm embarrassed by a combination of 1. what I'm reading and 2. how the cover was designed relative to what the book is actually about. Thus, by always, compulsively, setting books on surfaces cover side down, I interrupt any sort of nascent judgment others may have been forming about me based on my reading material. Now there are exceptions: the Barack Obama book I'm in the middle of reading to sustain my faith in The Process has never been anything but face-up, even when I've fallen asleep reading it. However, it's a library hardcover, and so the actual cover of the thing is a textureless grey, and the title on the spine is worn off enough to make the text look like some kind of religious relic. This is not a problem. Books that cannot be for anything other than school, like math books, sit face-up in piles on my floor and desk; this may be a subconscious attempt to remember to actually read them one of these days. But in general, covers go down, ISBNs go up.
I realize that this "don't judge me by my book's cover" fear basically makes it sound like I don't trust anyone's judgment, but I think the issue is more complicated than that. Part of it may well be that I know sometimes a friend's or even a stranger's reading material helps me form an impression of them (and I suppose most everyone is guilty of this at one time or another--consider the contrasting images triggered by hearing about someone "reading the New Yorker", someone "reading US magazine", or someone "reading Lord of the Rings"). In other words, giving someone a clean look at your book jacket amounts to allowing them to know some information about you without having to ask; I don't feel comfortable with this process because I don't get to control what the other person is thinking when they see a book on my desk. And if you notice, this explanation is borne out by my need to describe and somehow justify whatever it is I'm reading as you (the reader again) pick up my book to look it over. Some of the fear may be leftover from a childhood during which I at times wished I was less noticeable. Being told by a parade of adults that I was awfully tall or well-spoken or whatever and never once finally figuring out what you're supposed to say back ("thank you"?) left me bereft of desire to stand out without trying. In a way, then, the glossy, colorful cover on that novel I'm reading seems to blare out my presence to others in the same way being a tall kid did; though I couldn't become physically shorter, I can hide the market-imaged part of my book and leave you only with the earth-tone synopsis/reviews that's too small to read upside-down and across a table. It's almost like I feel protected from having to answer questions by flipping the book over--you would have to really make an effort to engage me about it, at which point you'll have to sit through my actual opinion about the thing.
It was only maybe a couple years ago when I snapped out of it, so to speak, and recognized the importance of public impressions. Before that, I would readily admit to being pretty clueless about the external, believing that some sort of objective measure of character would allow me to get away with adolescent male "functionalism" in my attire and indeed lifestyle. Some of you may recall me freshman year, with my baggy jeans and godawful need for a serious haircut, both symptoms of this disregard for the possibility that other people had their own ability to see me as I actually looked. Having started to deal with more serious stranger-meeting, interviews, office appointments, and generally being in public places as an adult, I found I wanted to give people some guidance in how I wanted them to perceive me. Thus: hair, grooming, clothing, posture, lexicon were upgraded, but there were also cuts in acting like an ass (college people, be glad you didn't know me in high school; high school people, be glad you didn't know me in middle school; middle school people, I would be almost shocked and kind of pleased if you were reading this, and I want you to trust me that I'm now friendlier in person as well) and, generally, in losing control over the public self, a process managed effortlessly thanks to the subconscious. Thus, every act, even setting a book on the table, is part of this whole sort of... pageant (to get all history class intellectual word-appropriation on you) of daily life.
posted by sam at
5:07 PM
2 Comments:
Did I know you in middle school? I think I did! Ah ha ha ha ha ha! I know what you mean though, I was reading Honor Harrington the other day and I was walking around with it tucked carefully beneath my arm so nobody could see I was reading cheesy space-opera.
By
Anonymous, at 11/16/06, 9:50 AM
Regarding the peculiar style of reading, I usually do the same thing. With a book or magazine there are a few anxieties for me: I don't want it to be judged as too pretentious, too juvenile, anywhere in between, or even in a perfect light relative to person who sees the book because in that case, you know, it may seem like I'm pandering to his or her interests. So, I put it face down; problem solved. Though your piece ended on a deeper tone I want to echo your simpler argument. The last part is poignant... I guess I oscillate between whether or not to provide an informative visual impression, you know?
By
Petroc, at 11/25/06, 3:32 PM
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