About Readers Reading

This is a text written about reading.

The act of reading occurs in an infinite number of ways that vary according to a huge number of parameters. Perhaps you like to read in your pajamas on an especially cushy armchair that sits in your living room where you read romance novels. That is one way of reading. Perhaps you are a student reading textbooks, page after page, highlighting line after line, making marks in the margins to remind you of important points in the text; that is a second way. There about as many ways of reading as there are books and people in the world. And the printed word is only one form of text; the number of ways of reading grows with each other form of text and reading device. There are so, so many others, as Alberto Manguel notes in his book, A History of Reading:

Reading letters on a page is only one of [reading's] many guises. The astronomer reading a map of stars that no longer exist; the Japanese architect reading the land on which a house is to be built so as to guard it from evil forces; the zoologist reading the spoor of animals in the forest; the card-player reading her partner's gestures before playing the winning card; the dancer reading the choreographer's notations, and the public reading the dancer's movements on the stage; the weaver reading the intricate design of a carpet being woven; the organ- player reading various simultaneous strands of music orchestrated on the page; the parent reading the baby's face for signs of joy or fright, or wonder; the Chinese fortune-teller reading the ancient marks on the shell of a tortoise; the lover blindly reading the loved one's body at night, under the sheets; the psychiatrist helping patients read their own bewildering dreams; the Hawai- ian fisherman reading the weather in the sky – all these share with book-readers the craft of deciphering and translating signs. Some of these readings are coloured by the knowledge that the thing read was reated for this specific purpose by other human beings – music notation or road signs, for instance – or by the gods – the tortoise shell, the sky at night. Others belong to chance.

1. Alberto Manguel, A History of Reading, Paper edition. (Pen- guin (Non-Classics), 1997). Page 6.

Are you surprised? It makes one's mind reel just to think of the number of ways. I have set out to investigate these ways of reading – to document the stories about readers. I call them stories around stories.
As a part of this exercise, I visited places where reading tends to take place: coffee shops, libraries, parks, book stores, used book stores, etc. The following account was written as I sipped on a cup of coffee, sat inconspicuously and observed readers at a coffee shop.

When you're reading a static thing, your mind is put at ease. A woman marks up a paper, excited to use her pen. People are reading their menus – together. A man in a sweater is reading a big book with his dog outside, while holding the dog's leash. Then, there are those on their laptops, furrowing their brows, distracted by the number of possibilities. A woman is scratching her scalp, making her forehead red. All the laptop people (except for one or two) sit at the counter, keeping each other company without talking. Solidarity. A skinny, tall boy peers down at the counter, reading the menu in order to order; he fidgets as he is watched by the person behind the counter. A girl? I can't see. Yes, a girl with pretty hair up in a bun and bad acne. Her co-worker has prettier hair, flowing black. It looks very soft and well conditioned. A hip man in his late thirty somethings sits outside. He has pulled a chair across the sidewalk to get the Fall morning sun. He reads his phone and smirks. Maybe it's an email from a friend. He has a streak of silver in his hair that's been swept back across the rest. Two girls share the view of one laptop, while one draws on her Wacom tablet. They discuss and make changes together, talking.

A funny, disheveled man walks in with his coffee, an old messenger bag with a safety pin on it and a New York times in its signature blue bag. Probably yesterday's paper (Sunday) because it's been rummaged through already, sloppily held underneath his arm. People who carry the newspaper are funny. Oh – his cellphone ring is the sound of crickets. It's humorous and loud.
$3.84 for a cup of coffee. Oh my.

Ha! He and the anxious girl behind him are on the phone in the same position. Their right hand is plugging their right ear and their left hand holds the phone to their left ear.

The editing girl switches from her papers to her com- puter and her fingers bounce across the keyboard, springy with the energy of having just come up with an idea – making the changes she first made with her pen. She's in the zone. All the girls carry two bags: one is a purse, the other holds a laptop or a baby. I have officially entered a Paul Auster novel, by the way. I am a detective.

This is a second account taken from another coffee shop on another day.

A window sill is important – it's a place to rest things. If it's beside a reading chair, it's a place where you are able to tie back to work-mode – a place (like a desk) where you can put things, tools, pens, pencils, coffee, your cell phone.

A man is reclined against the back of the chair with the book resting on his thigh and his hands lying on his stomach. A girl with auburn hair sits at a table by the door. On the table is a notebook with a lot of pink highlighter marks. She is sitting very still. Legs crossed, hands on her lap – one holding the binding of the book. She's half way through too.

A nurse comes over and thinks I'm a nursing student who often sits at this counter by the front to study. She asks what I'm reading (A History of Reading) and asks what it is about – asks whether it will teach her to read better. Says she skims her books, takes tests and misses certain points – realizing she didn't read particular chapters at all. Says the subject books just aren't that interesting. I say yes. Reading for pleasure is definitely a luxury. It's sort of sad. She says she might pick up A History of Reading. The auburn girl still hasn't budged.

I am watching people instant message each other, and making important observations for my thesis. A couple sits across from one another, one with headphones, the other sipping her drink slyly. One types, the other sneaks a peek, then they switch. They smirk and then share a laugh and make eye contact. It's like a game of battleship. Maybe they talked all day but this is an "other" form of communication for them, so it's fresh. And it's written, not spoken, so it's private and cheeky. They are looking into each other's eyes and smiling until one breaks the stare and she cracks up. They verbalize whatever it is they're talking about in writing and he takes off his headphones. The man at the window hunches over, about 7 - 10 inches from his library book with one foot turned.He holds the book open with one finger and one knuckle, then switches to both hands, grasping it from under- neath around the binding. A buxom woman puts her brown, comfort-loafers up on a little coffee table and reads a photocopied pam- phlet, holding it with one hand – the other free to turn pages. It's light and allows her to prop the pages up on themselves while the book man is weighed down. The weight certainly keeps his focus. She occasionally reaches for her venti latte. Her purse rests on her lap with the papers on top of it as if the purse were a throw pillow. It looks like this is the way she reads at home. The man seems to be enjoying the lilting Cuban music that plays in the background, dancing with an occasion- al foot twitch. He tilts his head to the beat. Starbucks is half way between a rest stop, a gas station and a cofee house. They have very bubbly girls behind the counter, though, and I have to say it's a welcome change from the aloof, all-business baristas at serious coffee houses.

Back to the man with the heavy book by the window. The crinkle of a library book jacket is comforting. It's a delicate noise – a reminder of something specific. "I borrowed this for some reason." He's half way through, so he is really reading the book. The rumble of the train is comforting. Now he has his legs crossed, one knee propped upon the other so the book rests there. Now, he