For the tenth year in a row, my New Year’s resolution was to read more. Ideally, I invariably tell myself during these first protean weeks of the month of January, this coming year will be distinguished by its languorous evenings slumped on the sofa skimming the long list of novels which weigh down the modest shelves of the library in my living room, with perhaps a glass of scotch placed on a pedestal table.
I delight in this fantasy: I dream of finally being able to open The Conjuring of Foolssend me the last two volumes of the trilogy The Books of the Fractured Earthtake the time to read Patti Smith’s memoirs purchased more than ten years ago… When I’m really gone, I see myself aiming even higher. And why not Leo Tolstoy? Or Thomas Pynchon? And there is also this copy of Pale Kingby David Foster Wallace, which has been yellowing on my coffee table for quite some time.
And yet, I already know how this saga will end. The year will end and my Goodreads list will only have been extended by a paltry number of titles, out of all proportion to the size of my bibliophile ambitions. Ask me why I don’t read as much as I would like and I could point to the well-known scourges of modernity: screen time taking up more and more space, addictive algorithms, attention spans becoming fragmented.
But one of my most fundamental problems with literature is much more prosaic. I also think that it is much more common than most readers dare admit. Why is it that no matter how I try, I can never find a comfortable position to read?
Lying, sitting, poorly installed…
Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. This affliction is widespread throughout the human species. It is commonly accepted that the very first published novel in history was The Tale of Genjia court drama written at the beginning of the 11the century by Murasaki Shikibu, a Japanese aristocrat. A thousand years after his incredible invention which opened the windows of the mind, humanity has still not found an ergonomic way to absorb the written word.
I tried, like you, to read lying on my back holding my novel above my head until my arms ached and started shaking, unable to keep the book balanced. I also tried sitting in an armchair, with the book open on my knees, until my right-angled neck stiffened and confirmed the terrible truth: furniture was never designed to provide for the literary necessity of looking down.
Obviously, there is always the option of lying on your stomach with your elbows buried in a mattress, rug or sofa cushions. It works for a while until it becomes obvious that you’re doing plank without the benefits outweighing the discomfort while, before your eyes, Raskolnikov kills everyone with an axe.
Others have developed a kind of Stockholm syndrome and interpret pain as virtue signaling.
I alternate between all these positions in a loop, in the mad hope of eventually finding the panacea that will allow me to unlock the sublime zen of the novel, the legendary joys of reading. When I spoke to my friends and colleagues to see if they shared my plight, it didn’t take long for me to realize that we were all in this together. Bryan Lowder, deputy editor of Slate.com, recalls that while thumbing through a particularly unwieldy volume containing the series of novels from the Earthsea Cyclehe was forced to stack three pillows against his headboard and place another on his stomach to stay sane while following the adventures of the Sparrowhawk.
My costume designer friend Laura Grasso, who just finished The Brothers Karamazovhas developed a sophisticated anthropometric device by which she braces her entire body against the padded inclination of an armchair arm, the book held in delicate balance in her field of vision “I’m trying the total diagonalshe told me.
This is by far the most optimal approach.”
Others have developed a kind of Stockholm syndrome and interpret pain as virtue signaling. Tony Ho Tran, editor-in-chief of Slate.com, says he needs “to be a little poorly installed” to concentrate on what he is reading. “Give me a crooked wooden kitchen chair, he proclaims. Give me a plastic seat on the train that takes me to work.”
“We are not made to stay in the same position for long”
But shouldn’t we be able to do otherwise? Shouldn’t evolution have provided our species with some sort of natural lumbar support—or, failing that, some sort of emergency callus—to help us engage in the ancient tradition of reading words printed on paper? Did Moses, coming down from Mount Sinai with its stone tablets consecrated by God Himself, have neck pain after deciphering the Ten Commandments? Well, according to Ryan Steiner, a physical therapist at the Cleveland (Ohio) Clinic, yes.
It turns out that reading forces the body to adopt a completely unnatural posture. And no one can do anything about it. “In all honesty, we are not meant to stay in one position for long, no matter how comfortable it is.specifies Ryan Steiner. When you read, you have to change it often. I recommend getting up and moving around a little from time to time.”
“It’s easy to hold something relatively light with your arm at your side for several hours. But in front of the face? You might have trouble doing it for even a minute.”
Ryan Steiner kindly explained the science to me. Our nervous system is woven with microscopic electrical sensors called mechanoreceptors. These sensory neurons inform our body how we stretch, curl, or tension our soft tissues. This is valid when you are doing weight training, but also when you are holding a book in front of your face.
“After a while, these receptors send a message to the brain like: ‘Hey, something unnatural is happening here, we need to do something’”describes Ryan Steiner. This is when we adjust our posture to find a more comfortable position. This pattern repeats itself constantly throughout the reading. It may seem strange to you that a novel exerts a pressure on our body comparable to that of a bag of concrete, for example, but Ryan Steiner was quick to remind me that there is always a moment when any object can become a source of discomfort.
“A little force can make a big differencecontinues the physiotherapist from the Cleveland Clinic. It’s easy to hold something relatively light, a weight of one and a half kilos for example, with your arm at your side for several hours. But holding this thing in front of your face? You might have trouble doing it for even a minute.”
An e-reader to the rescue, almost hands-free
That said, the power of technology has been summoned to solve this reading problem. We’ve all heard of those desks that can be set up in a bed or on a bathtub to allow you to occupy your hands with a glass of chilled pinot noir while reading through a syrupy romance novel.
But those who prefer to read on a tablet have gone even further. I contacted Chelsea Stone, who works for CNN and has tested a truly revolutionary device for attaching her e-reader to an adjustable silicone mount. She angles the articulated arm above her mattress so that the tablet floats gracefully before her eyes as she lies on her back in bed. To turn the pages, she uses a remote control connected by Bluetooth. His hands never need to come out of the duvet.
This waterproof cocoon of literary bliss recalls the flying chairs used by the sedentary refugees in the animated film Wall-E.
Chelsea Stone succeeded once and for all in making human limitations obsolete by neutralizing those pesky mechanoreceptors. “I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve dozed off with a book in my hands, only to be jolted awake by grabbing it from my forehead.she confides. With this device, I am free to read in any position.”
And yet, Chelsea Stone, a true bookworm, admits that she still likes reading books the old-fashioned way. I can understand her. If an e-reader is physically a prudent idea, spiritually it is an experience that lacks intensity. Ultimately, if I love reading, it’s also for all the incidental elements of literature; the way this ritual can brighten an ordinary day. Think of the joy of accidentally discovering the ideal reading spot – a café, a park, a beach – which seems to be waiting for precisely the novel you are carrying around in your backpack. Time stops and your imagination begins to crack.
The muscles in my hip protest vehemently as I lie on my side and calm my mind. We have been reading books for a thousand years. The game is definitely worth it.
