As Oxford students, we are supposed to like reading. Reading critically, reading for our tutorials, reading for our essays. But what happened to reading for pleasure? Amidst the endless lists of books and academic journals from your tutor which you *definitely* read, it’s easy to end up not reading anything for fun at all. Ever felt like you were suffocating under a pile of books, making the idea of picking up yet another feel utterly daunting? You, my friend, were experiencing a reading slump.
What does this actually mean? Put simply, a reading slump is a period in which you read very little or not at all, even feeling physically unable to. It can last anywhere from a few days to a few months and is every reader’s worst nightmare. During a reading slump, the desire to pick up a book diminishes significantly and the usual excitement associated with reading feels distant and unattainable. It’s as if the connection between the reader and the world of books has been temporarily severed. Readers may find themselves staring at their bookshelves, feeling a sense of frustration and helplessness. You might attempt to start several books, only to abandon them after a few pages and turn to the old foe Instagram reels instead.
But what do we do about this? Sure, we may be able to dissect a text with surgical precision for our tutorials and our essays may be analytical masterpieces (shout-out to ChatGPT), but it seems like Oxford has destroyed our ability to read for enjoyment. Reading for fun may seem like a distant memory, especially for foreign language students – like myself – who read less in their native language than their language of study. However, reigniting your passion for reading is entirely possible: it’s simply a matter of being mindful of the material you choose to engage with. It goes without saying, but Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov is probably not going to be the beach read to ease you back in.
But has Oxford made us too critical? Can we still read without a purpose? Undoubtedly, university has changed our relationship with literature, and our criteria on deciphering a good book from a bad one has altered significantly from our days of reading Roald Dahl and Jacqueline Wilson. Even subconsciously, we judge the books that we read, which is both a blessing and a curse as we cast a discerning eye over the books stacked on the shelves in Blackwell’s.
Despite our best efforts to unwind and switch off our academic brains, it is all too easy to slip into the judgemental habit of analysing characterisation, narrative structure, and literary style rather than valuing pure escapism and enjoyment. For this reason, it’s easy to feel plagued by guilt when reading books unrelated to our degree subject. There will always be another white-haired academic publishing another book on Kafka’s The Metamorphosis to be recommended by our tutors or to mysteriously appear in our pidges.
Are we still able to appreciate less intellectual and potentially – dare I say – even kitsch, lazy, and poorly written books after being subjected to some of the best literature of the past 1,000 years? This is a matter of perspective. If you are conscious that what you are reading is not claiming to be the next Great American Novel, then guilty-pleasure literature is more than capable of serving its purpose (presumably relieving academic stress). In fact, it can be exactly what it takes to begin a new chapter of our relationship with literature. After all, who doesn’t love a cheesy romance book undoubtedly destined to end up as a Netflix series starring Jacob Elordi?
But what does this mean for the industry of the trashy novel? It’s very possible that this phenomenon is just another product of our age of overconsumption and instant gratification. You pick out a novel, about 300 pages long, devour it in a couple of sittings, and then quickly move on to the next one. This pattern is reminiscent of binge-watching Netflix series or scrolling through social media, constantly seeking the next quick fix. Authors therefore thrive on this cycle of rapid consumption and immediate gratification.
Publishers churn out these books at an astonishing rate, knowing that there is a ready market of readers eager for the next quick and easy read. The formulaic nature of these novels – predictable plots, stereotypical characters, and sensationalised storylines – ensures that they can be consumed without much mental effort. This allows readers to escape into a familiar and comforting world, even if only temporarily. Such books may be easy to read but this often comes at the cost of quality and development. They offer no real lessons, but maybe that’s the intention. As with many things in this life, self-awareness is key.
You may think that it is only books we do not enjoy that can push us into such a predicament, but let me introduce you to a ‘novel’ concept – ‘the book hangover’. Whilst this may just sound like the amalgamation of two staples of the Oxford lifestyle, this is a very real phenomenon: when a book you read has such an impact on you that you feel unable to move on from it, prompting a complete aversion to any other books and a total loss of literary appetite. Then begins the struggle for the next great read, which can be easier said than done.
If finding a new great book proves too much of a challenge, there is always an old faithful sitting on your shelves to return to and re-read. Think of it as meeting up with a friend who you haven’t seen in a while, yet once you do it feels like you’ve never been apart. You know the characters, you know the plot’s twists and turns, and perhaps most importantly you know how the story ends. There’s a sense of comfort and nostalgia that comes with re-reading a beloved book. You can pick up on details you might have missed the first time, appreciate the nuances of the writing, and relive the emotions that the story evokes.
It’s like slipping into a pair of favourite old shoes that miraculously still fit. The familiarity allows you to relax and enjoy the journey without the uncertainty that comes with a new read. Moreover, revisiting an old favourite book can remind you why you fell in love with reading in the first place. It can reignite that spark and inspire you to dive back into the literary world with renewed enthusiasm, hopefully before you’re hit with another set of literary criticism readings for next term… or next week.
Sometimes, the key to breaking a reading slump lies not just in what you read, but how you read. Changing your reading habits can make a significant difference to how much you enjoy a book and can often even be linked to location. Sometimes all it takes is to romanticise your life a little, grab your oat latte from Jericho Coffee Traders and find a quiet spot to delve into the world lying within the pages of your book.
Granted, for academic reading this is not quite the same, and sometimes you need the silent pressure and judgemental looks that come from being in the library. After all, an English and Modern Languages student may read an average of 105 books over the course of their four year degree. Yet taking the pressure out of reading for fun is absolutely essential to rediscovering the joy we once experienced, as well as the ability to read at a leisurely pace, a luxury not afforded to those of us who inevitably leave our vac reading until the final month of summer.
There are many disagreements regarding the remedy for a reading slump, with the two extremes being either to seek out quality literature or to reach for something a little less challenging. There’s a reason that the classic ‘enemies to lovers’ trope is one of the most popular amongst readers, and it is not for its originality or innovation. This literary equivalent of fast food can act as an intellectual palate cleanser from the struggles of academic reading. Books that are ‘so bad that they’re good again’ are often the key to rediscovering the joy in reading. Just try picking up that trashy romance novel with the mildly risqué cover, it might be the secret to overcoming your reading slump.
