Joy of a New Book

A couple of weeks ago I did what, for me, was a very strong thing.

I was out working on a story about small businesses when I wandered into an independent bookstore. Just that morning, I had watched a documentary on Robert Lewis Stevenson, about whom I knew nothing. “I should get a biography about him,” I thought. But who has seen a modern biography about a 19th-century Scottish writer?

Turns out, I have. There it was, brand new, eye level, on the bookstore’s shelf. I picked it up, scrutinized the cover material, scanned some pages, thought of the stack of books I have waiting at home—and put it back. Unheard of!

Truth be told, I probably have enough books in my TBR stack to last me the rest of my life. Even counting those I probably will not read cover to cover I have years’ worth of reading awaiting me.

It was guilt that stayed my hand (and my pocketbook) in that bookstore. How could I add another book to the teetering pile when the others were sitting there like neglected children? But the compulsion is strong and I know that book is out there …

That led me to contemplate why there is such joy in acquiring a new book. Part of it is tactile. I like books that have visual appeal, that feel good in my hand, open easily and that have good quality paper. Some people even enjoy the smell of a new book but, personally, I can’t ascribe my lust for a book to pheromones.

With all physical conditions met, I fall in the category of a reader who wants information rather than entertainment. My library is composed of nonfiction and I save novels for audiobooks I listen to in the car because they require no concentration. I don’t think I have purchased a physical work of fiction since—when? I can’t remember.

Some books have been read and assigned to my mind’s attic, gathering dust. Others have become trusted friends, used and perused over and over again for information I employ in my writing. So buying a new book can equate to meeting a new person who might, just might, become your friend.

Obviously, this is not the case for all readers. Breezy beach reads, cozy winter nights curled up on the couch lost in a fantasy world not your own—these are strong attractants for millions of readers. Some cultures even build important parts of their society around reading books.

When I went to Iceland a few years ago, I was strongly attracted to their very civil and civilized society. Iceland has a very high literacy rate and publishes more books per capita than any other nation. According to the BBC, one in 10 Icelanders will publish a book in their lifetime.

I was particularly impressed with their tradition of Jólabókaflóð (terrific word!), “the Christmas book flood.” This is an annual tradition where books are given as presents on Christmas Eve. Families then spend the evening reading their new books together, often while enjoying hot chocolate. Maybe this kind of thing is why Iceland is assessed as being the third happiest nation in the world.

The happiness quotient in the USA, on the other hand, is at a low point with rankings of 23rd and 24th in 2024 and 2025. Is it coincidental that rates of reading for pleasure in the US have also plummeted? A 2025 study from the University of Florida and University College London has found that daily reading for pleasure in the United States has declined by more than 40 percent over the last 20 years while another study shows Gen Z is turning away from books.

The Walton Family Foundation and Gallup 2025 “Voices of Gen Z” study found that 35 percent of Gen Z K-12 students say they dislike reading and 43 percent say they rarely or never read for fun. Their eyes are glued on screens.

Now I am not saying that the Internet is a bad thing. I use it all the time. But it is a quick fix. Want to know when the Massachusetts Turnpike was built, as I recently did? The answer is on your phone, at your fingertips. But reading a book about the development of the road system in the US is better, more informative and more transformative.

Reading a book teaches patience because it requires sustained focus, training the brain to concentrate for longer periods and to wait for the story to unfold. This skill of cognitive patience, honed through reading, allows ideas to develop and take shape in the reader’s mind, gives room for the reader to draw his or her own conclusions and even, on occasion, to have an original thought. The result of our quest for instant information gratification may be a workforce fluent in tools but thin on imagination.

Perspective comes from wandering across history, fiction and biography—where ideas collide and recombine into something new. Reading teaches us to embrace ambiguity and to wrestle with contradictions. When reading a book, you must wait for the character development and plot to unfold, increasing the reader’s ability to understand and relate to others. And in an age when empathy seems to be imperiled, this can be vital to emotional development.

Yet modern Americans seem reluctant to engage in books. Data from more than 236,000 Americans who participated in the American Time Use Survey between 2003 and 2023, suggests a fundamental cultural shift: fewer people carve out time in their day to read for enjoyment.

Jill Sonke, director of research initiatives at the University of Florida’s Center for Arts in Medicine, has said that reading for pleasure is suffering a sustained, steady decline of about 3 percent per year. “Reading has historically been a low-barrier, high-impact way to engage creatively and improve quality of life,” says Sonke, “… When we lose one of the simplest tools in our public health toolkit, it’s a serious loss.”

I don’t know whether I will ever get to the bottom of my teetering pile because my one small victory over acquisition is unlikely to be sustained. But I am glad my grandmother taught me to read before I ever set foot in a school. I am glad my family engrained the habit of reading in my juvenile brain.

I am glad my childhood bedroom was equipped with a large bookcase filled with offerings from my family’s version of Jólabókaflóð. And that a radio nestled among those volumes brought Trinity College English professor John Dando’s voice into my room each night to read beautiful words to me during his program, “Behind the Pages.”

It was a rich life for a young girl in Northwest Connecticut, a life still enriched by literature. I grieve for those who do not, for whatever reason, share in that abundance.

Maybe I’ll go buy that book anyway.