Why Do I Read?

On the first day of my undergraduate degree I was sitting in a room full of nervous freshers when the lecturer asked us all "so, what makes you read?" and I swear, you could hear a pin drop. How had we made it that far and never been asked that? Why did we read? Because we like it? So many questions. 

It's been four years since then, I finished my undergraduate, I've finished my masters, and I still don't have one definitive answer. There are lots of reasons, there are lots of reasons for other people that don't even apply to me.

I read for entertainment. There's something different about reading that you don't get from TV or games (though the 'are games literature?' debate fascinates me), it's both relaxing and stimulating at the same time. Somehow, even when I'm lounging around, when I've read that day I feel like I've achieved something.

I read to escape. Growing up there weren't a lot of other children who lived nearby, so I didn't get to play out very much. Reading became a way for me to replace that. Admittedly, I did take this a bit far and replaced all my real friends with fictional ones, but I ask you, who wouldn't want that?

I read to learn. This doesn't apply to my degree funnily enough. I'm very partial to a non-fiction book in my spare time (currently I'm on The Romanovs by Simon Sebag Montefiore), and while they can be a slog, I find them so much more rewarding than novels.

I read for nostalgia. I love to reread books from my childhood. I'm in the middle of my annual Harry Potter reread right now. There's something very comforting about rereading well-loved books that have so many memories attached to them.

There are also more practical reasons for me to read, for example, this blog. If I didn't love to read I'd have nothing to review. This blog most likely would not exist because I wouldn't have even started it. That's the one thing that I'm sure every single book blogger has in common.