Dazed (Archive) - July 22, 2024
by, Georgina Elliot
Alex, 24, thinks reading for pleasure is a waste of time. Instead, he reads to learn about current affairs, maths, and Black history. Similarly, Finn*, 24, has only read one fictional book outside of his childhood. “I don’t really find the time to read, but if I do, it’s usually non-fiction,” he says.
Alex and Finn* both feel compelled to make ‘good’ use of their time – ‘good’ being a capitalist innuendo for ‘productive’. In our increasingly time-poor, grind-obsessed hellscape — 7-9 gym, 9-5 work, and 5-9 side hustle — coming up for air from being a cog and curling up with a novel just because you want to is a borderline sensual pleasure. “Our culture makes a fetish of practical outcomes, and perhaps because the outcomes of fiction-reading don’t patently lead to higher wages, it seems less worthy,” says Suzanne Keen, Professor of English at Scripps College.
Generally speaking, reading is an indulgence that women permit themselves more than men. In 2022, Deloitte predicted boys and men would continue to spend less time reading books and read them less frequently than women and girls. They were right: in 2023, women made up 80 per cent of the book-buying market in the UK, US, and Canada, and accounted for 65 per cent of all fiction purchases in the UK according to Nielson BookData. The bookish man is a rare species. Case in point: 1.2 million people follow the @hotdudesreading Instagram.
Meanwhile, masculinity continues to be in crisis. Men between the ages of 18 and 34 feel the most pressure of any generation to conform to ‘masculine’ behaviours. In the absence of a positive blueprint of how to exist in the post-MeToo world, a community of podcasting ‘manfluencers’, including ex-navy SEALs Jocko Willink and David Goggins and neuroscientist Dr Andrew Hubermann, have rushed in to promote their idea of what masculinity should look like. Self-improvement, ambition, and ‘growth mindsets’ are the banner messaging of this male-coded media world where Andrew Tate reigns supreme and the aim of the game is to optimise every waking moment to become a financially successful ‘sigma’. Doubtless many men enjoy the fact that reading non-fiction gives them an excuse to peacock their newfound knowledge and mansplain their latest read to their next Hinge date, too (bonus points if it’s Capitalist Realism).
This idea of the hyper-capitalist man with no time for something as ‘pointless’ as reading began to take root in the Victorian era. In the 19th century, reading novels developed a reputation as a frivolous and feminised activity as bourgeois women, imprisoned in the private sphere, took up reading bodice-ripping paperbacks as a pastime. Conversely, ‘serious men’ of the public sphere incubated capitalist messaging: any interest in reading had to be justified by practical utility. While for most of British history, men’s literacy rates far outstripped women’s, by 1900 literacy was actually more diffused among women. As author Leah Price put it in her book How to Do Things with Nooks in Victorian Britain: “Once a sign of economic power, reading is now the province of those whose time lacks market value.”
It is a cultural hangover that persists. A “cult of productivity is still imposed more on men than women,” says Dr Alistair Brown, Assistant Professor of Digital Humanities and Modern Literature at Durham University. “[Non-fiction] seems to have more immediate or meaningful returns on the investment of time.” Consequently, men buy more: in 2023, men accounted for 55 per cent of non-fiction book sales, Nielsen BookData tells Dazed.
Today’s problem also has its roots in the gender encampments of childhood. Boys are less likely to have male reading role models and are generally nudged by parents, teachers, and product marketers in the direction of other pastimes, particularly sports. By comparison, girls are encouraged to read and have a model of peer-to-peer engagement through their mums’ book clubs. So, naturally, girls spend more time reading and reading fiction than boys. This is, as ever, an intersectional issue: boys on free school meals read less than anyone else.
By the time their tween years swings around, a line is firmly drawn. Chris*, 21, who has recently completed his second fiction book in ten years, said he stopped reading at the age of 11 despite previously being a fan of fantasy books because he had “better things to do.” Naturally, such a stereotype cannibalises itself and ends up being reflected by the market. Young adult fiction is the near-total domain of the teenage girl — including what is made, marketed, sold, and read.
As we cut off the legs off future readers, “our culture closes off opportunities for boys and men,” says Professor Keen, who is also an expert in narrative empathy. “Consciously or not [we promote] a model of masculinity that is less introspective, less attuned to others, and less contemplative.”
Could reading stories offer an alternative route through the masculinity crisis? By creating “a safe space for allowing oneself to feel, with no strings attached,” Professor Keen suggests that reading fiction is the diametric opposite of the stale stoicism of the manosphere. It is a form of immersion therapy that demands you be present and forget yourself to a meditative end. You also become “part of a community,” which “helps you build mental companions as a bulwark against loneliness.” Accordingly, there are measurable mental health benefits such as lower stress levels, higher self-esteem, and lower rates of depression.
If men read, it helps society at large. Reading fiction opens your eyes to uncomfortable truths and unexpected perspectives that you may otherwise not have sought out. Books can surprise you by “smuggling in knowledge through the backdoor of an enjoyable and engaging story,” increasing the possibility of critical thinking when encountering the topic again, according to Dr Brown. When you read, you practice perspective-taking, adopting the inner lives of characters as your own and walking around in their shoes – something there isn’t time for with the visual immediacy of other media like film.
Reading fiction ultimately leaves you feeling full up, a stark contrast to self-improvement imperatives that demand you be more than you already are. Carving out time for such a creative pursuit “refreshes the spirit and expands our sense of possibilities,” says Professor Keen. And in case it isn’t obvious, this is a valuable use of time for men too. Men are not inert vessels for potential economic capital that needs to be squeezed out. So instead of retreating further into the hollow temple of productivity, might we suggest a prescribed course of Fourth Wing for all?
*Name has been changed
by, Georgina Elliot
Alex, 24, thinks reading for pleasure is a waste of time. Instead, he reads to learn about current affairs, maths, and Black history. Similarly, Finn*, 24, has only read one fictional book outside of his childhood. “I don’t really find the time to read, but if I do, it’s usually non-fiction,” he says.
Alex and Finn* both feel compelled to make ‘good’ use of their time – ‘good’ being a capitalist innuendo for ‘productive’. In our increasingly time-poor, grind-obsessed hellscape — 7-9 gym, 9-5 work, and 5-9 side hustle — coming up for air from being a cog and curling up with a novel just because you want to is a borderline sensual pleasure. “Our culture makes a fetish of practical outcomes, and perhaps because the outcomes of fiction-reading don’t patently lead to higher wages, it seems less worthy,” says Suzanne Keen, Professor of English at Scripps College.
Generally speaking, reading is an indulgence that women permit themselves more than men. In 2022, Deloitte predicted boys and men would continue to spend less time reading books and read them less frequently than women and girls. They were right: in 2023, women made up 80 per cent of the book-buying market in the UK, US, and Canada, and accounted for 65 per cent of all fiction purchases in the UK according to Nielson BookData. The bookish man is a rare species. Case in point: 1.2 million people follow the @hotdudesreading Instagram.
Meanwhile, masculinity continues to be in crisis. Men between the ages of 18 and 34 feel the most pressure of any generation to conform to ‘masculine’ behaviours. In the absence of a positive blueprint of how to exist in the post-MeToo world, a community of podcasting ‘manfluencers’, including ex-navy SEALs Jocko Willink and David Goggins and neuroscientist Dr Andrew Hubermann, have rushed in to promote their idea of what masculinity should look like. Self-improvement, ambition, and ‘growth mindsets’ are the banner messaging of this male-coded media world where Andrew Tate reigns supreme and the aim of the game is to optimise every waking moment to become a financially successful ‘sigma’. Doubtless many men enjoy the fact that reading non-fiction gives them an excuse to peacock their newfound knowledge and mansplain their latest read to their next Hinge date, too (bonus points if it’s Capitalist Realism).
This idea of the hyper-capitalist man with no time for something as ‘pointless’ as reading began to take root in the Victorian era. In the 19th century, reading novels developed a reputation as a frivolous and feminised activity as bourgeois women, imprisoned in the private sphere, took up reading bodice-ripping paperbacks as a pastime. Conversely, ‘serious men’ of the public sphere incubated capitalist messaging: any interest in reading had to be justified by practical utility. While for most of British history, men’s literacy rates far outstripped women’s, by 1900 literacy was actually more diffused among women. As author Leah Price put it in her book How to Do Things with Nooks in Victorian Britain: “Once a sign of economic power, reading is now the province of those whose time lacks market value.”
It is a cultural hangover that persists. A “cult of productivity is still imposed more on men than women,” says Dr Alistair Brown, Assistant Professor of Digital Humanities and Modern Literature at Durham University. “[Non-fiction] seems to have more immediate or meaningful returns on the investment of time.” Consequently, men buy more: in 2023, men accounted for 55 per cent of non-fiction book sales, Nielsen BookData tells Dazed.
Today’s problem also has its roots in the gender encampments of childhood. Boys are less likely to have male reading role models and are generally nudged by parents, teachers, and product marketers in the direction of other pastimes, particularly sports. By comparison, girls are encouraged to read and have a model of peer-to-peer engagement through their mums’ book clubs. So, naturally, girls spend more time reading and reading fiction than boys. This is, as ever, an intersectional issue: boys on free school meals read less than anyone else.
By the time their tween years swings around, a line is firmly drawn. Chris*, 21, who has recently completed his second fiction book in ten years, said he stopped reading at the age of 11 despite previously being a fan of fantasy books because he had “better things to do.” Naturally, such a stereotype cannibalises itself and ends up being reflected by the market. Young adult fiction is the near-total domain of the teenage girl — including what is made, marketed, sold, and read.
As we cut off the legs off future readers, “our culture closes off opportunities for boys and men,” says Professor Keen, who is also an expert in narrative empathy. “Consciously or not [we promote] a model of masculinity that is less introspective, less attuned to others, and less contemplative.”
Could reading stories offer an alternative route through the masculinity crisis? By creating “a safe space for allowing oneself to feel, with no strings attached,” Professor Keen suggests that reading fiction is the diametric opposite of the stale stoicism of the manosphere. It is a form of immersion therapy that demands you be present and forget yourself to a meditative end. You also become “part of a community,” which “helps you build mental companions as a bulwark against loneliness.” Accordingly, there are measurable mental health benefits such as lower stress levels, higher self-esteem, and lower rates of depression.
If men read, it helps society at large. Reading fiction opens your eyes to uncomfortable truths and unexpected perspectives that you may otherwise not have sought out. Books can surprise you by “smuggling in knowledge through the backdoor of an enjoyable and engaging story,” increasing the possibility of critical thinking when encountering the topic again, according to Dr Brown. When you read, you practice perspective-taking, adopting the inner lives of characters as your own and walking around in their shoes – something there isn’t time for with the visual immediacy of other media like film.
Reading fiction ultimately leaves you feeling full up, a stark contrast to self-improvement imperatives that demand you be more than you already are. Carving out time for such a creative pursuit “refreshes the spirit and expands our sense of possibilities,” says Professor Keen. And in case it isn’t obvious, this is a valuable use of time for men too. Men are not inert vessels for potential economic capital that needs to be squeezed out. So instead of retreating further into the hollow temple of productivity, might we suggest a prescribed course of Fourth Wing for all?
*Name has been changed
