The Case for Slow Reading in a Fast World

One year, I read close to 100 books. It was impressive. It was exhausting. It was completely pointless.

Reading books in the age of content consumption has turned books into just another metric to track, another achievement to unlock, another way to prove we're Doing Life Right™.

We're treating literature like fast food – optimized for quick consumption but leaving us somehow empty an hour later.

So, this past year, I did something different: I broke up with speed reading. I ghosted my Kindle and unfollowed #BookTok. And I definitely haven’t updated my Goodreads in a hot second.

Instead, I opted for fewer books and tried to absorb more. I treated reading like braising - giving my time with books to be low and slow so that ideas could develop and actually soak into my mind.

Here's what I've learned about reading less but better:

Slow Your Roll, Speed Reader

I get it. There's something deeply satisfying about updating your Goodreads goal with yet another finished book. It's like getting a gold star in the Scholastic Reading contest in elementary school, except now we're adults and desperately seeking validation from our internet friends instead of free personal pan pizza.

I've been treating books like episodes of a Netflix show I'm half-watching while scrolling on my phone. Sure, I can tell you what happened, but ask me about it two weeks later and I'm drawing blanks.

When it comes to my reading list, I’m not going for impressive. I want what I read to leave an impression.

When we rush through books like items on a checklist, we deny ourselves the deep pleasure of letting ideas settle into our bones. Research shows that slower reading leads to better comprehension and retention, but more importantly, it allows us to form a relationship with the text.

And that works for me: My learning style is one where for me to “get it” the words, the concepts need to get down into my bones. So I literally have to marinate in it. Speed reading doesn’t do that for me. I’m going for quality (of the text I’m reading and what I get out of it, the time I spend with it) over quantity. I want to think and apply what I read.

Breaking Up with Bezos, Part 1:

Last year, I committed what some might consider techie sacrilege: I ditched my Kindle.

Yes, that miracle device that promised to make me a walking Library of Alexandria with adjustable fonts in my pocket. Despite its convenience I found myself reaching for it less and less. The promise of digital reading efficiency had given way to a yearning for something more tactile.

Studies suggest that physical books offer cognitive advantages over digital texts. Physical books create what researchers call "spatial markers" in our brains – like mental Post-it notes that help us remember where and how we encountered ideas. It's why you might remember that mind-blowing passage was somewhere on a left page, two-thirds through the book, with a coffee stain in the corner. Try getting that from a progress bar.

The weight of the book, the texture of the pages, even the subtle scent of paper—these sensory experiences create spatial and temporal markers that help our brains process and retain information.

When we read on paper, we're not just processing words; we're creating a physical map of ideas. And that helps with recall.

Irene Vallejo’s 'Papyrus: The Invention of Books in the Ancient World,' paints this incredible picture of how reading used to be a whole-body experience. Ancient scholars would actually stand, sit, or pace around while unfurling these massive scrolls with both hands. It wasn't just eyes scanning words—it was this beautiful choreography between reader and text. Makes our mindless thumb-flicking through social feeds look pretty sad in comparison.

These folks treated reading like a ritual, a physical conversation with knowledge that demanded their full presence. The scroll (not what we do with our thumbs) wasn't just a reading device; it was an extension of their body, revealing its wisdom through this intricate dance of hands and eyes.

Sure, a Kindle is more convenient, just like Spotify. But there's something almost sacred about the ritual: the weight of the book, the subtle resistance of each page turn, those coffee stains that become timestamps of your reading journey. No progress bar can compete with the satisfaction of feeling the chunk of pages shift from your right hand to your left.

The Joy of Literary Groundhog Day

Plot twist: having more books at our fingertips than any emperor and scholar in history might actually be making us worse readers. But this abundance creates its own challenge: how do we separate the signal from the noise?

The answer might lie in reading less, but reading deeper. Instead of constantly chasing the next book, I've found profound value in returning to books that resonate. And yet, here I am, reading "Meditations" by Marcus Aurelius again and again.

The Stoicism bros might have claimed Marcus as their lifestyle guru (right up there with cold plunges and morning journaling), but they're missing the point. Reading this ancient emperor's thoughts hits different when you're actually going through it – whether that's workplace drama (imperial betrayal) or dealing with a global pandemic (yeah, he had those too).

Every time I come back to certain books, it's like catching up with an old friend who somehow got smarter while you were apart. I’ve gotten smarter. Each re-reading reveals new layers of meaning, filtered through our evolving life experience. A book that spoke to you at 25 will say something entirely different at 35.

That copy of "The Lessons of History" I keep coming back to? It hits different now that I'm watching history literally unfold on my social feeds.

Libraries: The Original Try-Before-You-Buy

The hottest book subscription service of 2025 is actually... your local library. Free access, no algorithms pushing "suggested reads," and zero chance of your TBR list getting leaked in a data breach.

For my Bey-Hive friends: The library lets me date the book before putting a ring on it. And for my tech friends: it's like GitHub for books – a public repository of knowledge where everyone can contribute and share.

I’m incredibly fortunate to live in a community that has some beautiful libraries. Libraries are also one of the last third spaces we’ve got going on in modern America. They remain one of the last truly public places where you can exist without having to buy something. Storytime for kids, workshops for adults, free WiFi for everyone – it's the original co-working space, minus the $500 monthly membership.

Pro Tip: No library nearby? Try "shopping your shelves" first – it's like that thing fashion people do with their closets before buying new clothes. You might discover your next favorite read has been sitting there all along, waiting for the right moment. And while you're at it, consider donating those books you're definitely never going to read again (we all have them) to your local book drive.

Breaking Up with Bezos, Part 2: Support Your Indie Bookstores

That "Buy Now" button is seductive. One click and boom – instant literary gratification.

Bezos’ big baby is (too) convenient. Sure, I could get it cheaper and faster on Amazon.

But there's something about shopping from a human-curated selection. It’s an investment in keeping serendipity alive in our hyper-optimized world. You get actual humans who might say, "Oh, you liked that? Wait till you see this weird little book about Japanese forest meditation." And somehow, they're usually right. Plus, there's something deeply satisfying about knowing Jeff Bezos won't be adding another wing to his mega-yacht with your book budget.

The Plot Twist Ending

So here's my reading manifesto for 2025: Read less, but read better. Let’s find something meaningful throughout all this information noise.

In fact, maybe we should all read less. Not because reading is overrated (it's not), but because books deserve better than being treated like TikTok content we can swipe through and forget.

We don't brag about how many deep conversations we rushed through last year. Why do it with books?

Sometimes the best reading list isn't the longest one – it's the one that actually changes how you think, one dog-eared page at a time. And if that means reading the same book twice (or five times) while your Goodreads challenge quietly judges you, I’m ok with that.