How to Talk About Books You Haven't Read

published	October 30th 2007 by Bloomsbury USA
binding	Hardcover
isbn	1596914696 (isbn13: 9781596914698)
pages	208
description	The runaway French bestseller hailed by the New York Times as "a survivor's guide to life in the chattering classes." If civilized people ar...more [close] The runaway French bestseller hailed by the New York Times as "a survivor's guide to life in the chattering classes." If civilized people are expected to have read all important works of literature, and thousands more books are published every year, what are we supposed to do in those awkward social situations in which we're forced to talk about books we haven't read? In this delightfully witty, provocative book, a huge hit in France that has drawn attention from critics around the world, literature professor and psychoanalyst Pierre Bayard argues that it's actually more important to know a book's role in our collective library than its details. Using examples from such writers as Graham Greene, Oscar Wilde, Montaigne, and Umberto Eco, and even the movie Groundhog Day, he describes the many varieties of non-reading; and the horribly sticky social situations that might confront us, and then offers his advice on what to do. Practical, funny, and thought-provoking, "How to Talk About Books You Haven't Read" is in the end a love letter to books, offering a whole new perspective on how we read and absorb them. It's the book that readers everywhere will be talking about; and despite themselves, reading; this holiday season. [close]
date added	06-09-07 edit book

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talking about books about talking about books we haven't read	3	12/29/2007 02:16PM

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Corrielle rated it:

05/02/08

bookshelves: non-fiction

Read in May, 2008

If one were to follow the the logic of this book to its inevitable conclusion, one would have to admit that none of us have "read" any books at all. We have all come into contact with a variety of books, it's true, but they are all "unread" books of some sort. Either they belong to the vast sea of works that we have never even heard of, they are works we've heard of but never actually opened, books we have only skimmed, or books that we have read that have been forgotten to...more If one were to follow the the logic of this book to its inevitable conclusion, one would have to admit that none of us have "read" any books at all. We have all come into contact with a variety of books, it's true, but they are all "unread" books of some sort. Either they belong to the vast sea of works that we have never even heard of, they are works we've heard of but never actually opened, books we have only skimmed, or books that we have read that have been forgotten to the point where when we talk about them, we are talking about a fragmented reconstruction of the original that is of our own creation anyway. It's reader response theory gone horribly, wonderfully awry.

The important thing about books, then, is not actually reading them, but understanding the book's place in the collective library, engaging in meaningful conversation about the book (a feat which is completely possible even if neither participant in the conversation has read the book), and using the work as a source of individual and creative critical responses that may or may not have anything to do with the original work at all. (Yes, this is Wilde, whose Critic as Artist is discussed at length.)

Along with the collective library, which exists externally, Bayard talks about an inner library, which is filled with our conceptions of the books that we have read and the highly individual ways in which those books have shaped us. This, he says, is can be a major stumbling block when having discussions about works of literature. The Other's private conception of the novel is so different from the real thing that it's useless to have read the real thing in the first place. The chapters on conversing with loved ones and conversing with authors are especially applicable here. In the chapter about the author, he talks about how the book that the author thinks he or she has written is sometimes so out of sync with the response to it that it is impossible for the author to recognize his/her work in it. As with all of the other chapters, he uses an example from a work of literature where books and reading form a part of a plot point. In this example (one of my favorites, which is why I include it here), an "author" who is only pretending to have written the book in question ends up having a conversation with a "reader" who is only pretending to have read it.

What staggers me is how right he is. In educated circles, there are books that one is expected to have read, or at least have a passing knowledge of. However, it is the ability to comment intelligently and insightfully on these books that is key, not the actual act of reading. We tend to treat the reading of certain books as symbols of status and worth. I know I do. While I have not read as much as some people, I have read a great deal, some of it very weighty. I've read Anna Karenina. Twice. I read the unabridged Les Miserables when I was in the seventh grade and got strange looks from students and teachers alike. But am I any more equipped to talk about these novels than one who hasn't read them? What do I really remember about the actual text of the books, anyway? I remember "Every happy family is alike. All unhappy families are unhappy in their own way," or something very like that, is the opening line of Anna. I remember some very profound passages about simplicity and farming and peasant life, and other very good stuff about Anna herself (especially the night of the dance and the train ride in the storm) and something about comparing her to a horse whose back is broken as her lover Vronsky rides it in a race. I remember even less of Les Mis, and separating out what I know from the book and what I know from the musical is increasingly difficult. I remember long sections about minor characters (there is an entire chapter devoted to the priest who gives Jean Valjean the candlesticks, and another about Marius' grandfather and battle of Waterloo) and I remember paying lots of attention to any section involving Javert, who I was completely enamored of at the time. Does this make me any different than other people who have the same fragmented knowledge who haven't ever read the whole things cover to cover?

So... why should any of us read books at all if the important thing is the conversation/place in the collective library? First, I might suggest that even having forgotten much of a book, reading a book in the first place allows it to be joined to the inner library, allows it to mesh with individual experiences and perceptions and alter them slightly, perhaps. Second, if no one is reading books in the first place, there is a great void at the center of the intellectual universe. Someone has to be actually reading books, however quickly those books may turn into unread books, otherwise, we are all speaking in circles about something that is unknown to all of us (which, in my experience, happens a great deal anyway when a group of literate people start discussing books). Third, if books remain unread in the strictest since of the word (no one is physically opening the covers and setting eyes on the page), why are authors writing books? We could write for our own pleasure, yes, but for many writers (I am one of them) the urge to communicate something in our writing, to establish a connection with our readers, are important driving forces behind our writing. To be read, then filtered through the skein of the reader's own consciousness, perhaps even to be misunderstood, is far preferable to not being read at all....less

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