The Economics of Reading
November 16, 2008

One thing I have learned is that what you tell yourself tends to come true. If you think you can’t sleep well, you won’t. if you think you can’t learn to play the piano, you won’t. And if you think you are not making enough money, you won’t change that. Reality tends to fit our expectations because we make choices that create that reality.

I was reminded of that truth this week when a number of book industry blogs and publications highlighted the economic panic that publishing is experiencing. Several large publishers have laid off staff, some smaller ones are shutting their doors, and Barnes & Noble is “bracing for a terrible holiday season” as the chairman put it. Yet this is a company with no bank debt (which is more than can be said for many individuals and businesses) that expects their balance sheets to finish in the black.

So is it just me who thinks the industry is panicking when it’s unnecessary? It’s true that the current economic situation is serious. Layoffs are happening in many businesses, and the result is rippling outward. Home prices are falling. Foreclosures are up. The stock market has taken a terrible hit. Discretionary spending is, at least by many, being cut. Yes, it is serious. But does it call for wholesale panic?

I think not. Unless you are one of those laid off who is facing a future without income, with the loss of a place to live, with children who may not have enough to eat, with up credit cards run up to the point of pain, then you are okay. You can take a deep breath and review your situation and determine what if any changes to make to see yourself through this problematic time.

Since books are of importance to everyone who stops by here it is worth a bit of time to share some of my thoughts on this topic. Here’s the first one: don’t cut books out of your life. And don’t, unless you are facing severe financial issues, stop buying them.

“I can’t spend $15 or more on a paperback book,” you might cry. “And I can’t even think of buying a hardcover!”

For those who are in genuine distress, let me say how sorry I am. I have been there, and it is truly frightening. It’s extremely difficult to let yourself out of the cycle of worry even for a few hours. You feel as if you have to stay focused on things that might bring relief—job hunting, selling stocks, searching endlessly for ways to bring in more income—but not giving yourself space and time and energy for things you enjoy is destructive. If you don’t allow yourself to experience the world outside of the circle of worry you lose sight of it. You must stay connected to joy and you must connect with it regularly if you are going to come out fine at some point.

There is a push right now by publishing houses, professional organizations, bookstores and bloggers to encourage the public to buy books for the holiday season. Joining that push had been my original idea for this letter. In a way I want to encourage you to do that. Even if you only buy one book instead of three or five, you will help ensure that everyone’s future ability to buy them is a little better. But if that isn’t possible the best solution for a book craving is the library. It’s true you don’t own the books in the same way you do when you buy them, but there can be a strong sense that the books belong to you when you look around at your nightstand and coffee table and see a pile of books there.

One of my all-time favorite memories involving books came about at a similarly difficult time. I was unemployed and had been trying to get a job for many months. Applications constantly littered my dining table. Repeatedly dressing up to undergo interviews ranging from short and curt to lengthy ones that seemed to promise a positive result (and never did) left me feeling drained and depressed. It was an awful time.

Without a steady income I could not afford to indulge my book habit, which has always been one of my passions and relaxations. Then, at the height of my self-pity, I took myself to the Santa Barbara public library’s main branch. Though I had been a longtime member and regularly borrowed books, this particular day stands out.

I entered the lobby, the main desk on my left, the children’s section past the stairs on my right. Just ahead was the central area where two freestanding bookcases showcased new arrivals. Beyond those were tables and the reference desk. I headed to New Arrivals, Nonfiction, bent my head, and was perusing the titles when I was suddenly struck with a thought so nexpected that I gasped, jerked upright and thrust out my hand to steady myself against the bookcase. A woman next to me inquired if I was all right. I nodded, still stunned, unable to answer. Then I took a deep breath, and began to look slowly around at what had revealed itself to me with a sledgehammer effect: these books were all mine, and they were all free!

It was one of those moments when something you have long known smacks you in the face with the enormity of its importance. Suddenly I wasn’t poor, I wasn’t without books. I had a huge library that possessed (or could get) any book I wanted. That brief thought was so startling that I have never forgotten its exact phraseology. It changed my life because it changed my perception of it. And I have no doubt it was that changed perception that resulted not long afterward in winning a decent, stable job.

As for Barnes & Noble and the independent bookstores, I fear they might be creating their own reality. If they don’t expect to do well this holiday season they may find that to be true.

I, on the other hand, hope that BiblioBuffet’s readers will indulge themselves in books for themselves and for others. Buying at new bookstores is great! But it’s not the only way. The library, used book stores, thrift stores, nonprofit book sales, and garage sales as well as at remainder dealers who discount books substantially all contribute to the contentment that comes from having books around. Creating for yourself the joy that that comes from reading is important. Indulge it. And if you ask where the money will come from, perhaps from giving up things that don’t mean as much—coffee at Starbuck’s, one lunch out per week, a new pair of shoes or a new shirt when old ones can still work well. Or, as Anne Fadiman relates in her essay, “Secondhand Prose,” maybe re-thinking old assumptions:

And when the eighteenth-century bookseller James Lackington was a young man, his wife sent him out on Christmas Eve with half a crown—all they had—to buy Christmas dinner. He passed an old bookshop and returned with Young’s Night Thoughts in his pocket and no turkey under his arm. “I think I have acted wisely,” he told his famished wife, “for had I bought a dinner we should have eaten it tomorrow, and the pleasure would have been soon over, but should we live fifty years longer, we shall have Night Thoughts to feast upon.”