Let’s Talk About Reading (Part 2)
Human Life
Books are written by humans. (Though these days, that’s no longer strictly true. Sadly, AI has begun writing books as well… Ah, is it actually sad??) Regardless of the genre, a human life is embedded within every book. There is a style of writing, and there is a way the narrative unfolds. Just as everyone speaks in a different voice and in a different manner, every author writes in their own distinct way. This holds true for everything from technical treatises to literary works.
As I read, there are moments when I can distinctly feel the person behind the words. I love those moments deeply. When reading a book purely for practical purposes, one sometimes forgets the author, becoming completely absorbed in the content. There are precious moments where the prose becomes invisible and only the substance remains. Yet, occasionally, a question arises: why did they choose this specific word, or why did they frame it in this particular way? These moments trigger reactions—sometimes positive, sometimes negative.
Regardless of which way the reaction sways, I inevitably end up comparing the author with myself. How would I have written it? Why does this make me uncomfortable? Just as communicating with others often reveals hidden facets of ourselves, encountering an author in a book becomes a moment of self-discovery. This is another true delight of reading.
To feel the human breath within the pages, to connect through empathy, to be moved, and to sense every single stitch of effort poured into the work—it fills me with boundless gratitude to read a book and to honor that effort. It is very similar to what I experience when attending a concert. Even if a piece of music doesn’t quite suit my taste, I hold immense respect for the performers as they finish the movement. I can feel the countless internal conflicts beneath the surface of the sound, and I know the work was born only after enduring them all. In this way, a book enables a silent conversation—between myself and the author.
My Method for Breaking Through Difficult Books
Every morning, right after waking up, I reserve one hour for reading two different types of books. The reason is simple: to read books I would otherwise never touch during the rest of the day, using the hours when my willpower is at its highest and my mind is at its clearest. Everyday during this hour, I read 5 to 6 pages of books that are difficult, thick, or dauntingly tiresome to pick up. And I always make sure to take notes.
The first 30 minutes are dedicated to reading original texts related to my research; the second 30 minutes are reserved for humanities books. I adjust the difficulty level by making sure at least one of the two is in Korean. Otherwise, I would consume far too much energy first thing in the morning. By sticking to this routine, I manage to break through about one difficult book every month. I never open these books in the afternoon. The books I read in the afternoon are entirely different ones.
That is not to say that difficult books are only read in the morning, but during that morning hour, I open a notebook to transcribe passages or write summaries. This process allows me to revisit the content and continuously practice the art of synthesizing information. Going to bed an hour earlier and waking up an hour earlier for this single hour has been part of my routine for quite a long time now. The habit built this way has given me a solid sense of quiet pride in my reading. It is a method I wholeheartedly recommend to anyone who struggles with reading difficult books.
I agree completely – it’s fascinating how much of ourselves we find reflected in the stories we read, even when they’re written by someone else.