LI. To Read or Not To Read

According to a new study, one in four Americans doesn't read even one book a year. So what? Does that mean we're illiterut? I don't think so.

I hate the cultural snobbery of people who take such evidence as the decline of civilization. The bottom line is that we can get our info and entertainment in other ways. Like from porn.

I am a poor reader. I can't read quickly because I must read EVERY SINGLE WORD CAREFULLY or I feel guilty. My thinking is that the author wrote every word intentionally, so I should read it intentionally. Because I must analyze style, word choice, pace and voice while I am reading a book, all reading is damn exhausting. Like porn.

But I love books. I have a lot of books in my house. How many? I went and counted for this column. I estimate around 1,500 to 1,600 books.

I have read most of them partially and probably revisit them once every couple of years. Rows and rows of pretty oak shelves holding books with bookmarks sticking up around the 1/3 or halfway mark – that is what I hate about myself. I just can't finish all the things I start, like yard work or marriage. When I go back to revisit a book, it reminds me of my past failure, so I simply pour another whiskey and do the old "I'll just see what a pistol feels like up against my head" trick.

For me, reading a great book really knocks me on my ass. A good book stays with you and shapes you unlike any other art form. Someone who has thought so clearly, researched so thoroughly, and worded so beautifully deserves untold riches.

But the sad fact is that most authors don't make jack. Whenever I go into a bookstore and look at all those books and think of all those lonely, uncompensated hours spent writing them, I get horny. So I hit the adult store, and then call this divorced chick I met online.