Literary Sacrilege: The Advice Against Reading

by Mandira Pattnaik

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Reading can ruin your writing career. No one says that — it is equivalent to sacrilege in the literary world. In fact, the popular advice is exactly the opposite: reading helps with writing. I’ve been hearing this ever since I can remember, even when I wasn’t writing. Will I still choose to advise against reading? Yes. Don’t get me wrong — I am advising against reading too much when you are already a writer, and not any reading by any person picking up a book. I’m speaking from personal experience. Still not convinced? Well, what if I have arguments to support my advice?

As a kid growing up in non-English speaking neighborhoods in India, I remember reading Little Women, Oliver Twist, Black Beauty, David Copperfield, et al., alongside books in other languages. The choice of language was unimportant; reading anything was considered a good habit. It was meant to be undertaken as a wholesome experience — absorbing different cultures, learning new things and enlightening yourself. Reading served as a means of keeping busy. Growing minds purposefully engaged, that’s what adults wanted to see, more so if one was an introverted, shy kid like me. It was the case with me since I could barely hold books properly in my hand. In the absence of screens, reading was what occupied our holidays. I have some of those childhood books well-preserved with me to this day. The books made the transfer from my parents’ home to my many rented apartments to (now) my new home. I generously gift them away to kids who visit, particularly those with a penchant for reading. With my children, our group reading sessions are some of the best shared times, and I am sure they’ll cherish those memories as much as I do.

Yet, it is also true that reading can be harmful.

Writers who stopped — or sharply curtailed — reading fiction or casual books

I know my saying this will be met with shock, might jolt the book publishing markets, but let me start with some examples, of several writers who stopped — or sharply curtailed — reading fiction or casual books, often because they felt it was affecting their writing, creative energy, or mental well‑being. Philip Roth, American novelist and short-story writer, who wrote fiction set in his birthplace of Newark, and was intensely autobiographical, famously said in a 2011 interview, “I’ve stopped reading fiction. I don’t read it at all,” choosing instead to focus on history and biography. Roth hinted that reading fiction, he thought, impaired his ability to write his own work with fresh voice: “most writers know … to fall under the sway of a master’s voice…” I can relate to this as someone who is easily impressionable and as someone who loves reading history and biographies, at least, I used to love these subjects. I read the huge volume of Nehru’s Glimpses of World History and remember being fascinated with the author’s command over language and lyricism as much as the historical narratives. I remember wishing, albeit naively, that the book became our high-school text book, because then, I hoped, none would complain about history being boring! In fact, the book was as good as an exceptionally well-written fiction book.

Many people don’t like fiction either, and never have. I think that is understandable and I am sure they have their own reasons. But once having read fiction avidly, and then, in the fullness of time, giving it up, is in fact, literary sacrilege. Cormac McCarthy, another American author who died in 2023, reportedly described reading fiction as “a rather odd thing to do.” Why? I wonder.

Is it an age-specific problem? What about emerging writers who are yet to reach their best? Are they putting off reading too?

One thing common between Roth and McCarthy is that these writers said so when they were past their prime. In fact, one documented explanation is: “as one gets older, and the ability to free up space in one’s head to properly engage with reading and not be distracted by physical and/or mental ailments, it seems to me that reading fiction would naturally become more difficult.” Which might be true. What about emerging writers who are yet to reach their best? Are they putting off reading too?

In going deeper into this, I find my own situation similar to that of English writer, journalist, political commentator and broadcaster William Woodard Self, who also has indicated he no longer reads fiction. In a 2021 Lit Hub article, he has spoken about the importance of reading widely, particularly for aspiring writers.

By reading indiscriminately, I learned to discriminate — and learned also to comprehend: for it is only with the acquisition of large data sets that we also develop schemas supple enough to interpret new material.

However, William Woodard expressed disenchantment with fiction and novels because “reading other authors’ work engages the same creative muscles” making it too distracting. These examples demonstrate that stepping back from reading, especially fiction when you are a fiction writer, is not unheard of in the literary world — whether to preserve originality, conserve energy, or simply because the writer’s inner mood and focus have shifted.

Is writers taking a break from reading a new trend?

Some of you may argue that the phenomena of breaking-up with reading is of recent fashion, probably brought about by smartphones and the all-encompassing internet. Let me take you still further back, into the 1970s, when internet did not exist as a distraction. Clarice Lispector, in a 1976 interview, admitted she reads very little when working on a book: “I read very little… It’s a crime, but it’s true.”

It is embarrassing!

Thinking this over, coupled with how I have felt myself since becoming an active (and somewhat unsure, semi-professional) writer, I have endeavored to seek answers. Because it is shameful. I mean I am embarrassed to say that I have cut down on reading. The last full novel I’ve read purely for pleasure was The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida. I do read for professional reasons. I read books to interview authors. I read to review the books I’ve been entrusted with. I read chapbooks gifted to me because the writer is a friend. But reading an entire fiction novel because I wanted to read it? Nope! That was a conscious decision — but I am sure it is nothing to feel good about. Except, when I discovered something called “passive reading.”

Passive reading

Passive reading is when you consume text without engaging critically or reflectively. It’s similar to zoning out while watching TV — you absorb words and ideas, but don’t interact with them. In other words, passive reading is reading without enjoying the experience of reading. Reading with a passive mindset can reduce your urge to ask why — why a character makes a choice, why the author used a certain word or phrasing, why the ending didn’t work for you, and so on. I have come to believe that when you read too much, you may actually be passively reading rather than engaging actively with the book. Albert Einstein famously cautioned: “Reading, after a certain age, diverts the mind too much from its creative pursuits. Any man who reads too much and uses his own brain too little falls into lazy habits of thinking.”

I am not sure, for this particular quote, what the context was, but certainly underscores how passive or excessive reading can hinder independent thought and creative development. Similarly, like binge-watching TV, passive readers might internalize plot structures or clichés without realizing it. Then, when this writer sits at their desk and begins writing, they are at risk of using this default template because it seems familiar, under the false perception of the idea being of original, internalized origins. This can possibly make oneself lazy, and complacent. I presume one would be wary of more effort, or writing through exploring innovative, immediate or personal narrative arcs.

Addictive reading and risk of imitation

As an emerging writer, I have experienced this. One other serious concern around too much reading, especially if one is addicted to a particular author’s work, is imitation. New writers are more prone to imitating an accomplished writer’s style unconsciously. Thereby, perhaps, one in danger of letting someone else’s voice override your own internal narrative instincts. I mean, it begs exploration why Jonathan Franzen in the 2002 book of essays How to Be Alone advised writers to “be alone,” implying a kind of mental separation from external influence while writing. It is not difficult to imagine this — you walk alone, you write alone. Just as you learn to walk on your own, one should be writing like no one taught them.

In the opening note, Franzen says that the “underlying investigation in all these essays” is “the problem of preserving individuality and complexity in a noisy and distracting mass culture: the question of how to be alone.” When a person reads heavily and passively, especially within a specific genre or from one dominant voice (say, Chekov or Murakami), their style can seep into your own. Your natural voice gets overwritten, much like mimicry instead of originality. It seems to me, subject to evidence to the contrary, that overexposure to “polished” prose can create a kind of imposter syndrome.

Furthermore, in the event a writer is aware of the pitfalls of imitation, one may enter a second phase. In this second “after-phase,” the writer’s excessive reading creates a lack of confidence in one’s voice, tone, syntax, or ideas because they seem ordinary and pedestrian when compared to the work of other accomplished writers, published widely and often heavily-promoted, that one had been consuming as a reader.

It is important in my view to keep the child-like simplicity one had when one was new to reading — that curiosity is vital to developing a sharp, authentic voice.

Reading widely and outside preferred genre: Works for some but not everyone

Reading outside one’s genre can be tiresome for some, and outright harmful for a few. Jayne Martin, flash‑fiction writer with roots in screenwriting, says that she has strict limits on story length — not just in writing, but also in reading: “I rarely write fiction over [300] word limit … I actually find it hard to read stories beyond that limit, too, because the extraneous leaps out at me and I find myself mentally editing, or just growing bored.” She avoids longer fiction because it feels diluted or distracting — it disrupts her flash‑fiction sensibility. I do agree with her, and relate to this irritability when it comes to switching genres in writing, though I admit I do it often — more often than others can imagine, and in reading, I purposefully mix so as not to be bored.

If you’re worried reading might be harming your writing, I have a few remedies that work for me. Other than listening to your instincts, and trying out a quarantine period of reduced or no fiction, shuffling genres and categories can do a world of good. I like focusing on non‑fiction and poetry between periods of reading fiction, and I am always mindful if the reading itself is getting excessive. I’ve said this often when interviewed regarding my reading habits: My reading is like how a bird feeds — both sparse and choosy. Setting reading boundaries, with time as well as categories, can work perfectly for some writers.

Active reading

If there’s something called passive reading, there must also be something as active reading. As the name suggests, active reading includes enjoying, interrupting, and varying your reading habits. Check how the dialogues work, for example. Or, pause to admire how a scene was executed by the author, in spite of the challenges involved. Also, one must remember to assess and appreciate how opinions and authorial choices might take the narrative direction to quite unexpected places.

The choice between active reading and ‘Closing the Books’

In 1996, in a much-discussed essay for Harper’s Magazine, “Closing the Books,” Arthur Krystal reflected on his own disillusionment with reading. I am wondering if the essay is more relevant today than it was back then. Krystal recounts how he once believed immersion in books was an essential intellectual virtue, but gradually found it consuming him like something compulsive and suffocating. At some point, he concluded that reading was in fact hampering his capacity to think independently and trust his own ideas. Rather than echo others,’ Krystal deliberately tweaked his reading habits. Closing the books was, in other words, a way to nurture original thought and reclaim control.

I am siding with him this moment. I think it is important to have space to reflect, write, and trust one’s judgment again. Krystal’s essay is rare in its honesty about the downsides of reading — especially for writers who may feel trapped by the constant need to keep up with more books. You, like me, might be bombarded by images of everyone’s TBR piles posted on social media, and be chased with a sense of FOMO. At the risk of sounding harsh, I may as well venture to say that I doubt all those books on the TBR pile will ever be read cover-to-cover. Anyway, all this also underlines how passive overconsumption can distract or disengage a writer’s original ideas and slow creative momentum.

Conclusion

To sum up, here are two experiments that you can conduct on yourself. One, deviate from what you’ve been reading, and see if you can change categories and authors. If you do change, check if you’re still enjoying your reading, even if you’re stepping into something as monotonous as history or something as thrilling as suspense drama or something as adrenaline-rushing as travel-writing. Two, if you’re unsure if you are over-consuming, just step-back and don’t read anything for a month. See if you still miss it. See if you’re doing better at writing or doing worse. Suffice to say, one is one’s best judge, but these simple changes can improve writing life.