As a child, I couldn’t help but feel that I was behind. In a physical sense, I was smaller and shorter than the other kids my age, but as for learning I had never gone to preschool. My mom had read me countless picture books on the bed and I loved the stories, but I had never really tried to read anything on my own. The summer before kindergarten, my parents wanted me to start using a video reading program. Colorful letters danced across the screen as a woman’s voice guided the listener through the alphabet, but I only felt disinterested. Despite the many books in my home, my parents were never avid readers, and I didn’t feel the need to be one either.
The process of beginning to read was a blur, but eventually, the reading assessments began. My teacher would wait for me in the library, as they watched me read passages and asked me questions. The anticipation was brutal until the teacher finally gave me a reading level letter, the further in the alphabet the better. Afterward, all the students went around and compared, our defining letters determining who was “better” than the others. I stayed comfortable in the first half of the alphabet. Reading wasn’t fun, it only measured us.
It was difficult for me to understand how others enjoyed reading as much as they did, while I found myself returning library books I never got around to starting. During the free reading time, I would find myself just staring at the pages, not taking anything in. It wasn’t until 3rd grade that I finally found a book that truly interested me. The Land of Stories by Chris
Colfer was the first book series I ever found myself reading. A 438-page book was quite hefty for me at the time, but nevertheless, I was hooked. It was one of the first fantasy fiction books I’ve ever read, where students as normal as myself found themselves in a vibrant world of fairy tales and adventure. I devoured the book, and then the second, and patiently waited as the four other books were released throughout the years.
It was at this time I developed the habit of “binge-reading.” I wasn’t the type of person who could read for a little bit and move on to something else, once I began I was completely invested. And if I had to be interrupted, I was only waiting until I could begin reading again. Once in elementary school, I was determined to finish one, or possibly even two Dork Diaries books. I knew it was late and I knew I would be in trouble, but I wouldn’t let myself sleep until they were done. I checked the time and saw that it was already 3 am. For an eight-year-old, that was quite a stretch, and my mom was not happy to find out I was up that late.
In 4th grade, I discovered Percy Jackson. Being totally in love with him and the story at the time, every day I came home from school I would read, going through the first series, then the second series, bringing my books with me whenever I could. It was then I realized that books that created a world different from our own, with fantasy worlds or dystopia, were my love. My collection of books at home grew on several shelves throughout the house, and I became known as the reader in the family. At family parties, even graduations, I had a book in hand
The nostalgia for this part of my life is met with a combination of wistfulness, envy, and almost amazement. In eighth grade, once we began reading books like Animal Farm and Fahrenheit 451, the traces of the bookworm I once was had disappeared. It was as if once the “real reading” began, there was nothing to maintain my interest.
It’s embarrassing to say, but I haven’t done much reading by choice in all of high school. I’ve tried to pick it up again, but it has only led to unfinished novels. Sometimes I miss that spark, the thing that willed me to focus for hours and caused books to pile up in my room.
In recent years, what came to me instead was writing. I never viewed myself as a good writer, and even today I struggle with being happy with what I write. Writing used to be a burden, and with every assignment came dread and disappointment. The person that changed that for me was Mr. Smith, my English teacher in the first semester of junior year. He had always supported my writing and had been impressed with what I turned in. At first, I thought it was just a way to be nice, but it wasn’t until he nominated me to compete in a writing contest that my view of myself as a writer changed. I know it sounds silly, to need to accept an external view to see yourself, but I never even considered the possibility that I wasn’t a bad writer. Ever since, when I spend hours on a simple assignment, I pour myself into a piece, and even if I still might not love it, even if I fear what others think of it, I don’t mind it.
Over time, I’ve become more of a writer than a reader, but I’ve been hoping to let reading become a part of my life again. It’s hard to believe that I once spent the better part of my days indulging in my books, filling my head with stories and adventure. I know my journey with reading isn’t over, but I’m interested in where it’s headed.
One of the biggest reasons why I clicked on your blog was the title of it. I found it so intriguing to see the growth you had as a child dealing with something incredibly frustrating to then later enjoying it. I liked how you first started with children’s fantasy books and then progressed to more mature pieces of literature to show the growth you had as a reader. It was also nice seeing very familiar books being projected since I, and many others, have read them as well and can definitely relate to the feelings you had of joy and disinterest: joy towards the fantasy adventures, disinterest towards the school curriculum books. I can’t help but wonder; could it be that being forced from Fantasy to very abstract Dystopian (or as you called it “real reading”) in such a way make you disinterested in reading since it was such a big contrast to your likes? That you were being pushed to read something you didn’t like? Or maybe that you felt like it had no meaning to you since you couldn’t relate to it? I think that this is an important piece that you added that definitely raises some questions that need to be addressed by those influencing children’s reading since this is a huge universal feeling among other high schoolers. I can tell that you really showed yourself in this narrative as a writer; you showed such transparency in your views of reading and your self-awareness in reading and writing (something that I really admire). I wish you good luck on your journey!
My mom was the primary influence in my reading while my dad always jokes that I’ve read more recently than he has in the past twenty years. Without her, I wonder if I would have grown up indifferent to the task too.
Several elements of your narrative are reminiscent of mine. I was similarly drawn to fantasy stories, gorging myself on the adventure, staying up until the early morning, and bringing really thick books wherever I went. Middle school was also when I burned out of reading. It was the result of a slow distancing, one that seemed sudden in retrospect, until I found myself unable to finish the 600-900 page books that I once flew through.
Recently, though, I’ve rediscovered the spark. Your title about missing reading rang true for me too; once away, I always wanted to get back into it. Not all books hold my interest, but I’ve found that’s due to the book not being for me, rather than reading itself. Sometimes it requires conscious effort, but I’ve been working to dedicate more time to reading because I like the influence it has on my life.
Izzy,
I really resonated with the content you wrote in your blog post. I too have vivid memories of a time in elementary school when reading was used as a categorization tool as opposed to an enjoyable activity. Your argument that this introduction to reading deters children more than allures them, has proven to be true in my own life as well. Young children should be able to enjoy stories and books without worrying about how they compare to others in that regard. Additionally, I really liked how you initially described having an aversion to reading, but later grew to love complex fantasy novels throughout your elementary and junior high career. I found it interesting how you mentioned that in eighth grade you were introduced to classic literature (which you referred to as“real” reading) and you stated that these works deterred you from reading. I’ve noticed throughout my own life, that oftentimes, reading is only considered a valuable hobby if the books being read are ones that are highly regarded or books that have been deemed classics. This mentality steers children away from reading, because the reality of the fact is, that any book, magazine, or article, qualifies as “real” reading. One should not undermine their validity as a reader, simply because they have different tastes than what is offered as reading material by schools.
Hi Izzy! I love that you tilted your piece and included an attention getter that was so gripping. The first sentence is truly the reason I wanted to read your blog post. I have a lot of respect for an author who can share their truest feelings with the audience. You also bring up a point that I noticed in Joanna’s post. The fact that you were not interested in reading because your family also wasn’t shows the impact our childhood has on us. Many people say they are their own person and they do not agree with their parents. While that may be true our upbringing and our guardians views do unconsciously impact us at a young age. I am so glad you also noticed that. I also read the Land of Stories and actually met Chris Colfer multiple times. His world of fantasy is one a reader can diverge themself into. I think me and you are similar in the way that we fell in love with reading because it’s our own escape from reality. I also enjoyed that you opened up about your “readers block.” It is nothing you should be ashamed of but something schools could take into account. When students are forced to read books of little interest it’s almost guaranteed that they will lose that spark for reading. Thank you for sharing your story. You did a great job!
I like how you incorporated your history with reading into your own distinct style, how you enjoy reading, but it has been difficult to keep up in high school. Also, how your relationship with writing has grown and allowed yourself to pour everything into a piece. I can definitely see the benefits of the connections of how your realization for your passion for writing can spread to books. I am excited to see in future blogs your ideas on what you end up reading next. Percey Jackson was actually the first book for me that sparked my passion for writing. I love sitting down for a few hours being completely immersed in the book’s world, whereas before, I could hardly read a page without getting bored. I feel like that series does a great job of introducing developed characters and detailed plots in a way that younger audiences can understand. The “spark,” as you mention, comes in waves for me. Usually during the summer I have a spark, but recently it has not been as strong, and I miss it a lot these days as well. It is also great how you incorporate your past with reading, with how you felt at the time, then comparing it to how you have grown in this aspect is truly inspiring.
Hi Izzy,
Super relatable narrative. I think many of us share a similar “falling out of love” with reading once we reached our teenage years. I’m interested in the reasons why this may be. The simple answer is that we were forced to read by teachers and the institution what you call “real reading.” But, I suspect this may only explain part of it. After all, we were forced to read books starting from as early as 3rd or 4th grade, even though I seem to recall reading pretty voraciously back then. There has to be a bigger disconnect elsewhere, no?
Personally, the driving factor for me was my disillusionment with YA Fiction. This was the stuff that bridged my era of Harry Potter and Percy Jackson and then, the “real reading.” I literally hated these books so much. Everything was so predictable, so flat. Even dramatic mysteries made various poor attempts at red herrings but were all structured in the same way. The characters followed the same archetypes, and the plot was organized with the same tropes.
For me, there was a bit of a double whammy. On the one hand, I did not feel the same joy reading books like 1984 or Dorian Gray, simply because I needed to have ample text evidence for our quasi-daily Socratic seminars. The process of reading became just that, a process. On the other, I did not feel that I had much to retreat to. Works of fiction designed for my age annoyed me, and I was probably too parochial of a freshman to try new genres or expand my horizons. Ultimately, this all cascades into what you aptly describe — the spark, extinguished.