The Art Of The Book Recommendation
Spoiler alert: there are no book recommendations here. Sorry.
Behind every movie you’ve ever watched, every book you’ve ever read and every history lesson you’ve ever been taught is a director, an author and a teacher with biases, experiences and beliefs. Subjectivity permeates everything we consume, no matter how objective the creators claim to be. Whether or not these people impart their histories consciously or unconsciously, directly or indirectly, explicitly or implicitly, they are there.
This is not necessarily a bad thing. Acknowledging and understanding someone’s point-of-view can lead to meaningful realizations. But when you’re suddenly aware that something tacit is at play, it can be unsettling. Binge-watch a sitcom and you’ll realize that the punchlines are emphasized for you. The laugh track makes you feel like you’re part of the live studio audience, but it also works to incite enjoyment. Even if you don’t find the joke funny, you’re being cued to laugh. And in essence, you’re being told what to think and how to act.
The inclination to dig beneath the surface and discover inherent assumptions might not come naturally, but asking for someone else’s opinion does. If you’ve asked a friend (or two, or all) during shelter-in-place what they’re watching, reading, cooking or simply doing, you’re not alone. There’s nothing wrong with looking for advice from someone you love, respect and admire. One question remains, though: what are they recommending, and why?
Over the past year, I have been asked a handful of times for book recommendations, and while I love enthusing over literature with former, fellow and new readers alike, I often hesitate before handing out a title. Should I base my recommendation on what I’ve loved, or what I think they’ll like? Light and fluffy or heavy and profound? Will they even read it? What if they read it and hate it? What if they read it, hate it and judge me for recommending it? Will they find the book that changed my life as transformative as I did? Am I qualified to recommend books? Is this book thought-provoking enough, interesting enough, literary enough?
Literary? “Good literature?” I once had strict notions of what this meant. Literary was synonymous with significant and noteworthy. What really qualifies as literary fiction? I used to wonder. Which books are good enough to wind up on English course syllabi? Which books are worth dissecting as if my final grade depended on it?
I’ve realized that literary fiction is not the only thing worth reading and that the term “literary fiction” is subject to interpretation anyway. The Western canon was constructed by a particular set of thinkers, and only holds value if you allow it to. Instead, I have become a reader hungry for knowledge and new narratives. I refuse to be an “intellectual” looking for an elitist discussion.
Doors to new worlds have opened. The voices of writers from different backgrounds and countries shine through. If I once thought a book wouldn’t make the cut for a university-level reading list, I ask myself why not. Instead, I imagine the class that would include it. The discussions and inquiries and topics that should arise. The other books, films and works of art that it could be in conversation with.
Though I have loved many, many books — and, despite having said all this, I’ll probably still suggest them to you some day — I haven’t mastered the art of the book recommendation. There’s no perfect formula for it. Every person has particular beliefs they cling to, toxic biases they must dismantle and interests they want to indulge.
We can all benefit from reading widely, deeply and with an open mind. Let empathy take over. Read the books that paint the world in its entirety.
Catch up on past installments of interior monologue:
Well said!