index

when the yearly “10 books to get to know me” meme lands on my timeline, it always gets me thinking. sometimes the number of books read feels like a vanity metric. it has its merit — to track my goddamned reading backlog — but i’m often more interested in how many new ideas actually stayed with me.

still, i enjoy reading for entertainment, so measuring knowledge acquisition also feels too clinical — that “10 books to get to know me” prompt really is a hard one. maybe it’s hard because i’ve long believed you don’t have to read books from cover to cover. it depends on the reading purpose; efferent (to extract information), interpretative (to engage with ideas), or aesthetic (to enjoy the text).

you see, there are at least four types of books to me, each with its own way to interact:

1. narrative books, whose plots i follow linearly, like watching a movie. sometimes i take a break, then pick up from where i left. praised as page-turners; flipping through them can be addictive.

   part of the fun is discussing the plot with friends. munching through Dan Brown’s masterful pacing together was the highlight of my junior high school years. for this, i read straight through. line by line, from start to finish.

2. thesis books, whose core ideas i engage in dialogue with. i write in the margins, stress-test the premise, and try to connect it with what i already know. it rewards curiosity and critical thinking throughout the reading session.

   lately i use chat gpt too to cross-reference and pull in diametrically opposing ideas and criticism of the context of the writing. for this, i read the table of contents, engage with the most interesting chapters, and move back and forth while rereading.

3. reference books, whose information i consult and look up from time to time — the obvious ones are dictionaries, atlases, or cookbooks. but also books on technical topics like On Writing Well.

   it’s a source of curated information that i quickly jump from one section to another. digital formats like .epub are a blessing with their ability to search and save highlights. for this, i highlight, save, and search.

4. experiential books, where touching, seeing, and flipping the pages is a big part of the experience itself. sensory books, puzzle books, art books belong here. i like big books with beautiful covers, if only i had more shelves to stuff them.

   they are coffee table books, as much decoration as reading material. for this, i flip through random pages, and enjoy the aesthetics.

they are not genres, but my mental model for interacting with books. it liberates me from the explosion of content, shrinking attention span, and burden to consume them all.

most books end up shelved somewhere along that spectrum, and how we read them changes what we take away. the same book can be read differently. some thesis books are disguised as narratives — looking at you, Harari’s Sapiens. They reward at least two readings: first to follow the story, then to argue with its premise.

i later learned this relates to reader-response theory, which suggests that meaning isn’t inherent but printed in the space between text and reader. once a book is read, its interpretation becomes subjective to the reader (which is also why it’s OKAY to drop a book mid way).

that’s why i seldom ask for book recommendations. instead, i’m more intrigued by the books someone still thinks about, and how they’ve made meaning from them. in the ocean of accessible information, i find myself looking for more perspectives.

what’s a book that didn’t quite want to leave your mind, long after you finished reading it?