So there I was on the subway, enjoying Donna Andrews’ ideas in Swan for the Money about some of the comic possibilities inherent in Belted Tennessee Fainting Goats, when I got a tap on the shoulder.
“Whatcha readin?”
I’ve never wholly understood why reading a book makes you fair game for interruption and other things don’t. Most people wouldn’t dream of walking up to a stranger in a restaurant and tapping the arm lowering the fork to ask what they’re eating. And no, it's not just because of the steak knife in the other hand. People don’t tug on headphones to ask perfect strangers what they’re listening to, although in fairness you rarely have to ask to know the answer. But even when you can’t tell, they still hold back, and not just from the ones who look as if heavy metal is both a musical choice and a preferred method of social interaction. People on cellphones may voluntarily announce to strangers 3 blocks away who they’re talking to, along with intimate details of their sex lives, but no one latches onto the rare quiet user to demand that information. Nope, there’s something specific to reading that triggers this reaction, at least reading the old fashioned way, from a printed book. One of the rarely mentioned benefits of audiobooks is that they’re completely immune to the whatcha readin' interruption syndrome.
And syndrome it seems to be, a sort of biological imperative, like the one that forces people to stare as they pass an accident scene: see person in public place engrossed in book, MUST interrupt to ask what they’re reading—resistance is futile It’s not just a matter of curiosity, because the really weird thing is that most of the time the person asking doesn’t want to know the details. They just see someone reading and need to ask until they get a response… preferably a very short response, which makes a gentle whoosh as it goes out the other ear. Offer more than a title and maybe an author in reply, and you get either that “what have I done now” panicky look in response or eyes glazing over faster than a hot doughnut dipped in sugar syrup. It’s a reverse psychology technique I’ve often wished would work half so well on others of life’s chronic interruptions, like telemarketers or the man with all the religious tracts prowling the subway station, but sadly it just seems to encourage them.
Don’t get me wrong. I love talking with people about books and if I’m reading something good, can’t share it with enough people. Even if it’s not so good, or good but just not to my taste, I’m still curious to hear what others think. I wouldn’t review books or be here talking about them otherwise. And I certainly wouldn’t know about the panicky / glazed response if I hadn’t tried to play the game. But that’s the problem. This doesn’t seem to be about books, except books as a sort of fair game marker, and the ones who would be interested in talking about the book never seem to be the ones asking. So I don’t mind answering, but I just don’t get it.
Still, I may have found the perfect response, completely by accident. As an unabashed geek, I’m fond of the User Friendly comic strip set in tech support at an ISP. And was enjoying one of their collections on the subway another day (yes, there's a pattern here—I find books that pique my sense of humor a good idea when dealing with public transportation) when the inevitable happened.
"Pssst. Whatcha readin'?"
I didn’t look up or say a word, continuing to cackle at the contents as I lifted the book so the cover could be read: Evil Geniuses in a Nutshell: A User Friendly Guide to World Domination. No one bothered me the rest of the trip home, and in fact I found myself with some extra room to stretch out. I’m thinking of making copies to use as bookcovers on all future public reading.
“Whatcha readin?”
I’ve never wholly understood why reading a book makes you fair game for interruption and other things don’t. Most people wouldn’t dream of walking up to a stranger in a restaurant and tapping the arm lowering the fork to ask what they’re eating. And no, it's not just because of the steak knife in the other hand. People don’t tug on headphones to ask perfect strangers what they’re listening to, although in fairness you rarely have to ask to know the answer. But even when you can’t tell, they still hold back, and not just from the ones who look as if heavy metal is both a musical choice and a preferred method of social interaction. People on cellphones may voluntarily announce to strangers 3 blocks away who they’re talking to, along with intimate details of their sex lives, but no one latches onto the rare quiet user to demand that information. Nope, there’s something specific to reading that triggers this reaction, at least reading the old fashioned way, from a printed book. One of the rarely mentioned benefits of audiobooks is that they’re completely immune to the whatcha readin' interruption syndrome.
And syndrome it seems to be, a sort of biological imperative, like the one that forces people to stare as they pass an accident scene: see person in public place engrossed in book, MUST interrupt to ask what they’re reading—resistance is futile It’s not just a matter of curiosity, because the really weird thing is that most of the time the person asking doesn’t want to know the details. They just see someone reading and need to ask until they get a response… preferably a very short response, which makes a gentle whoosh as it goes out the other ear. Offer more than a title and maybe an author in reply, and you get either that “what have I done now” panicky look in response or eyes glazing over faster than a hot doughnut dipped in sugar syrup. It’s a reverse psychology technique I’ve often wished would work half so well on others of life’s chronic interruptions, like telemarketers or the man with all the religious tracts prowling the subway station, but sadly it just seems to encourage them.
Don’t get me wrong. I love talking with people about books and if I’m reading something good, can’t share it with enough people. Even if it’s not so good, or good but just not to my taste, I’m still curious to hear what others think. I wouldn’t review books or be here talking about them otherwise. And I certainly wouldn’t know about the panicky / glazed response if I hadn’t tried to play the game. But that’s the problem. This doesn’t seem to be about books, except books as a sort of fair game marker, and the ones who would be interested in talking about the book never seem to be the ones asking. So I don’t mind answering, but I just don’t get it.
Still, I may have found the perfect response, completely by accident. As an unabashed geek, I’m fond of the User Friendly comic strip set in tech support at an ISP. And was enjoying one of their collections on the subway another day (yes, there's a pattern here—I find books that pique my sense of humor a good idea when dealing with public transportation) when the inevitable happened.
"Pssst. Whatcha readin'?"
I didn’t look up or say a word, continuing to cackle at the contents as I lifted the book so the cover could be read: Evil Geniuses in a Nutshell: A User Friendly Guide to World Domination. No one bothered me the rest of the trip home, and in fact I found myself with some extra room to stretch out. I’m thinking of making copies to use as bookcovers on all future public reading.
Heh! Glad it's not just me who makes use of the 'lift the book, show the cover, return to reading without saying anything' manoeuvre!
Posted by: Lartonmedia | November 22, 2009 at 03:22 PM