Why I Read

Reading, Writing and Two Books

I believe reading and writing can be challenging at times. They require discipline, but should also be pleasurable moments. It’s somewhat similar to S/M—falling into the same category of giving and receiving pleasure. There are moments of frustration when I feel I lack the time or space to read properly, so I must carve out that private time, which is essential to me.

As a writer, I need books to feed on. What I write doesn’t come out of the blue sky, or even from the tension of cloud formations. It’s more like a conversation with a book—and that applies to writing itself. I thought of this while reading Lydia Davis’s new book-length essay, Into The Weeds, part of the “Why I Write” series from Yale University Press. I don’t know Davis personally, but I feel she is a friend. What often appears as her random readings are, in fact, orbiting the same universe. The reader, in turn, curates connections among books, and the author’s voice continues to speak long after the page is closed. Writing and reading become one ongoing dialogue.

Into The Weeds is not only for writers but also for readers. There is a thin line between the two. Writing is about shaping the space between letters, creating sound and image within marks on a page. Reading means absorbing those marks as magical powers that can take you anywhere. Sometimes it’s like being chauffeured—you sit in the backseat, surrendering time and direction to the driver.

As a reader, I like to be taken away. Rarely do I read for facts; I’m more interested in the ideas beneath the surface, or in what facts spark in me. Davis writes about various authors—some familiar, others unknown to me—and her enjoyment, even her questioning, makes me curious to follow. To me, no review should close off a reader from a book. Even if I dislike a work, I want others to explore it. The phrase “Thanks for saving me from wasting my time” irritates me—there is no wasted time in reading, only subjective landscapes to wander.

This connects in my mind to André Breton’s Cavalier Perspective: Last Essays 1952–1966. The grand Surrealist never tires. Like a jazz musician, he expands themes—visual art, poetry, anticolonialism—without falling into repetition. He never thought of himself as a professional writer, yet these essays, exhibition texts, and interviews reveal someone who remained passionately awake to the world, which is no small task for a Surrealist.

Taken together, Davis and Breton are like batteries: they recharge, they spark, they sustain. To engage with their pages is not only an intellectual adventure but also a way to feel the current of another mind, to catch the rhythm of how they moved through the landscape of words.

One can buy the Andre Breton book here: Cavalier Perspective

One can buy the Lydia Davis boo here: Into The Weeds