I’d never been jolted awake by a nightmare, that is until I read “The Atlantic’s” article titled, “The Elite College Students Who Can’t Read Books.” After reading it, I had to pause and ask myself when was the last time I actually sat down with a book purely for the pleasure of reading it? My memory wandered back to a lazy August afternoon, the sun peeking through the trees, my paperback only half-read and now gathering dust on my bookshelf. Embarrassingly, I realized I’d not finished it. But as it turns out, I wasn’t alone. The article pointed to a troubling trend among students my age, where reading, once an escape from our worlds, had become just another casualty of our over-scheduled, reality TV binging lives with screen scrolling breaks.
At Parker, I’ve had the privilege of reading across genres, traveling through continents and centuries within the pages of novels, plays, and essays. Each story has offered a new perspective, a chance to understand experiences far from my own. But as I look around, I worry that fewer of us are diving into these worlds by choice–that reading is becoming less a journey and more an obligation, one that gets pushed aside for shorter, faster forms of media.
Believe it or not, during COVID, I was a voracious reader–I consumed over two hundred books in my room during lockdown. I tackled novels like “Everything Is Illuminated,” “Turtles All the Way Down,” “A Little Life,” and “The Secret History,” from cover to cover. These books pulled me into complex, layered stories and challenged me to think deeply. Back then, reading was a natural part of my daily life, feeding my imagination and pushing me to reflect on human emotions and ideas.
Books like “The Perks of Being A Wallflower” and “Lolita” didn’t just entertain, they offered me empathy, perspective, and comfort when real-life connection was hard to come by. They taught me that feeling uncertain, lonely, or even overwhelmed was part of the human experience, and they gave me tools to process those feelings with clarity. Through books, I became more curious, thoughtful, and grounded. Losing that connection to reading feels like losing part of myself as it fostered an essential part of how I made sense of life and grew as a person.
Now, though it feels harder to sink into a book without the distraction of notifications, I know I’m not alone. This shift, detailed in “The Atlantic” article, is troubling. It’s not just about reading less, it’s also about losing the ability to connect deeply with long-form literature—a skill on which I once prided myself. The article’s warning echoes in my mind as I realize how much I’ve lost in trading pages for screens.
It’s shocking to think that many college students struggle to get through sonnets let alone entire novels. This lack of engagement resonates deeply with me as I reflect on my own experience at Parker. The critical thinking and analytical skills I’ve honed through reading challenging literary pieces have been invaluable, not just in the classroom but also in understanding the world around me. If we can’t commit to reading a few stanzas, how can we process the intricate narratives and themes found in richer literature… and in our lives?
The implications of this trend are significant, not only for our education but also for our ability to empathize with others and articulate our thoughts clearly. At Parker, where we are encouraged to engage with literature, I see firsthand how immersion in books helps us navigate the complexities of life. Losing that ability to connect with literature would be a loss in our capacity to understand the nuances of our own experiences and those of others. This isn’t just about reading. It’s about the very foundation of who we are as learners and as individuals.
So, the day after reading that article, I was magnetically pulled to the nearest Barnes & Noble and bought three books: one for pleasure, one for a challenge, and one that an employee suggested. My curiosity and appetite couldn’t say no. When will I read them amid the chaos of college applications? I don’t know. I guess they’ll have to sit on my shelf until I panic again. But perhaps that’s the point—those books are a reminder of what I value and the connection I want to nurture with literature. In a world where distractions are abundant, I’m challenging myself to carve out moments to read and reconnect with those stories that shaped me. After all, if we don’t make space for literature in our lives, how can we hope to grow, to understand, and to connect meaningfully with ourselves and others? The real question is: how will we prioritize reading not just as a task, but rather as a source of joy and insight?
