Everything I read about this book before I read it promised a witty, beautifully styled text that advised the reader on how to, well, talk about books he hasn’t read, but also how to deal with social situations in which the reader finds himself having to lead intellectual discussions about a book he hasn’t read. The word I latched on to was “witty,” thinking this was going to be a serious joke book – extremely hilarious writing about a topic that needs real consideration. Like when humorists write about politics.

Instead, I found this to be an STB. No, that doesn’t mean “sexual transmitted book.” You see, books are mentioned throughout this book, as would make sense; the author gives comments on each book – whether he has not heard of the book (UB – unheard of book), books he has skimmed (SB), books he has heard about (HB), and books he has read but forgotten (FB). He then rates them. Well, I am going to call this an STB (slept-through book) with a rating of ++, which is the highest possible rating. I don’t want to imply that the book was boring; it wasn’t the book’s fault that I read it late into the night after having gotten very little sleep the night before. (Well, I suppose if you really think about it, it is the book’s fault for being so interesting that I didn’t want to put it down; however, I sort of feel that since the book gives advice on how to talk about books you haven’t read, I can rightly talk about this book which I only partially read.)

It wasn’t witty. Or if it was, I didn’t get it. It’s French humor, I suppose, and I put that in italics because this book taught me to not be afraid of culture and being open, and perhaps a little bit because that’s how everyone refers to the French. In any case, I was initially disappointed by the lack of hilariousness, since that’s what I’d expected, but the book wasn’t by any means boring. In fact, as I’ve mentioned, it was quite interesting – so interesting that I hadn’t initially planned on writing an entry about it, but now I feel like I must.

The book takes the reader through many styles of non-reading, which I found interesting as I’m also finding my way through How to Read A Book by Mortimer J. Adler (FB++). I haven’t picked it up since October, when we moved into this apartment and I misplaced it, but the similarities in the way I seem to recall (but have also entirely forgotten) reading styles are described (whether reading or non-reading) is interesting to think about. It’s entirely possible, as this book has proven, to talk about books which one hasn’t read, or which one has skimmed, or in some cases which one has actually written but forgotten that he’s written it (Bayard uses Montaigne (HB+), while I would probably use Süskind’s tribute to Montaigne(FB++)).

In any case, all examples are taken from books. Either Oscar Wilde has said something in his personal essays (HB++) about avoiding books, or a character in Robert Musil’s The Man Without Qualities (HB+) has the opinion that reading a book is not quite as important as understanding a library. It reminded me of writing papers in college, and I suppose this makes perfect sense as it’s written by a college professor who probably expects the exact same kind of writing from his students. (The style of, “Let me provide quotes and then reword these quotes into terms that are more easily understood by your tiny brain.”) These books: I’m not sure if they’re supposed to all be books that everyone is “supposed” to have read. I know that The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco (SB++, because while I just finished it, I only understood about half of it – I may as well have skimmed it) is one of those, and so is Shakespeare’s Hamlet (HB-). The other examples used are perhaps socially “required” in France.

It’s true, I’ve never read Hamlet. Until now, I never realized how unashamed I am of not having read the “required reading.” One of the first thing Bayard suggests is to get rid of that feeling of guilt that you haven’t read something everyone else says they have read. I’ve read Paradise Lost (FB++), but I haven’t read The Perks of Being a Wallflower (HB–), which is one of those books that everyone has read but which I feel is highly overrated. Yes! That’s right! I’m saying things about books that I haven’t read! I also haven’t read any of the Oprah books, which in my opinion are all crap, nor have I read William Golding’s The Lord of the Flies (HB+), which I regularly recommend to customers at my bookstore who are trying to decide which reading list title to read (nevermind that it’s usually the shorter selection).

It reminds me of an instance when I worked at a corporate bookstore (if you’re unaware, I’m working independent now). Someone had asked if we carried any William Makepeace Thackeray, author of Vanity Fair (HB–). I had never heard of the author. I didn’t know what he wrote or who he was or why I should care except to help the customer find his books. I was then insulted, told that I was “wasting my education” as a college student because I wasn’t familiar with the author. Since then I’ve collected several of the author’s books but I haven’t read any of them. I’ve now realized that it was out of shame of not having heard of Thackeray that I decided to start collecting his books. I say! I’ll not pick up any of his books again, because How to Talk About Books You Haven’t Read has made me realize how unnecessary my guilt is, how afraid of culture I was, how utterly terrified I was that someone would think I wasn’t “smart enough” or “well-read enough.” (Mind you, I enjoy collecting books for other reasons, but when I seek out authors I’ve never read, it’s probably either for this reason or because I want the full collection.)

I purchased Robert Musil’s The Man Without Qualities several years ago – volumes one and two. It’s an incredibly thick book; they both are. I’ve mused about reading it now and again. I don’t remember my original reason for buying it – probably because it has a librarian as a character – but I was surprised to see it used as the first example in this book. I’ve been using quotes and examples from it which I’ve found on the Internet probably subconsciously thinking that someone would see that I’ve used examples from this book and think I was cool enough for their culturally enhanced club. They probably lie about reading Hamlet, too, although I’d like to say that I’ve never lied about reading Shakespeare. He’s too difficult outside of a classroom setting.

I’ve digressed. What this book boils down to is an alternative take on how we read. Its title implies that it’s entirely about not reading; indeed, the back cover implies as much also, but what I found I like most about it is that it ends up being about reading style. It wants you to pay more attention to how and what you’re reading; it wants you to realize that it doesn’t matter if you haven’t read something, or even if you have. It really doesn’t matter if you have every Shakespeare play memorized, or if you have an Oscar Wilde quote for every occasion. Society presses these “certain books” that we all must have read and frowns upon those who still have them on a “to be read” stack. Is it necessary? According to this book, the purpose of reading is to add to our autobiographies, to create (”To talk about books you haven’t read is an authentically creative activity, as worthy – even if it takes place more discreetly – as those that are more socially acknowledged” (182).), to invent, to be open to what the book is or isn’t saying.

Have you ever heard someone say that they’ve “absorbed” a book? Think instead that the book has absorbed you, or a little part of you. Instead of leaving itself inside you, you’ve left a little bit of yourself inside it. Whether you’ve read it through entirely (and thus given immeasurable amounts of yourself and your time to a block of paper), skimmed it (leaving only traces), or read someone else’s review of it and decided that was sufficient (giving the book your thoughts, but not your soul), you’re creating something new whenever you encounter a book. It doesn’t always end up being the same book.