Home Libraries Will Save Civilization

Multiple recent stories offered more signs of what I consider to be an unfolding civilizational decline. First, a student in Hartford, CT, who had attended local public schools from age six, graduated from high school without knowing how to read or write. At all. She had used speech-to-text software to write her papers. After graduating on the honor roll, she is now enrolled at the University of Connecticut. She is also suing her former school district for educational neglect.

The same week in the Atlantic, Rose Horowitch reported on “The Elite College Students Who Can’t Read Books.” Professors she interviewed at top institutions—Columbia, Princeton, UVA—reported the same experience. Students’ ability to read complete books, cover to cover, has been eroded to nothing over the past two decades. Because some students—notably, at public middle and high schools—have not had the experience of reading books in their entirety, they arrive at college without possessing this skill. Some sheepishly reported to professors that they’ve never read a book in full before.

Rounding up the trinity, also the same week, a menswear editor on social media commented on the poor aesthetic of overcrowded home libraries in small spaces—such as those in which urban dwellers often find themselves: “In places where housing costs have skyrocketed, living with a giant collection of books can be unpleasant. At some point, I switched to digital where possible.”

I have previously written about how overstuffed with books and bookcases my family’s home is. In the midst of the (il)literacy crisis unfolding around us, I would like to propose an old-fashioned response: Home libraries will save civilization. Why? Because a home overcrowded with books sets the tone for how its inhabitants spend their time at home. Bored? Read a book. Want something to do for fun? Read a book. Have friends over? Read a book together. Relaxed family night at home? Start a read-aloud.

When books are everywhere, they distract us with their presence in a good way—they demand to be read, shaping the people around them in small but meaningful ways, moment by moment, page by page. They send us on rabbit trails to find yet more books on related topics, to ask friends for recommendations, and sometimes just to sit quietly and reflect, overcome with an emotion sparked by an author who has been dead for centuries but one that expresses the state of our soul in this moment.

The very idea of a home library, of course, used to be a luxury, the privilege of the very rich. But in this day and age, with periodic public library sales and book giveaways, one doesn’t have to be rich to accumulate an impressive home library. Besides, perhaps it goes without saying, the public library is a wondrous gift for its ability to supply us with yet more books, opportunities to browse and find new delights of whose existence we would never have known had we not run across them on a shelf.

Also, speaking of luxuries, let’s forget aesthetics at least to some extent. Does my home feature many cheap mismatched bookcases? Yes, it does. Do we have too many books for our little space? Most definitely. Are there too many books piled up on every desk, side table, coffee table, and even hidden under the covers in the five-year-old’s bed? Yes. Is everyone in this home living with the joy of books as their primary companions each day? Yes, and that is the point. (But also, are we always looking for a book that has been misplaced somewhere in the house, and no one can find it at the precise moment that it is needed? No comment.)

And so, I contend that it is specifically the home library that is the foundation of a life-long love of reading for adults and children alike. Without the home library, the development of such habits is difficult to even fathom. Consider this: Why do we learn to appreciate some activities or foods and not others? So often it is simply by virtue of exposure to one thing and not another, especially at a formative age. We speak of the tastes of childhood, remembering favorite foods. But in the same way, those of us who grew up in bookish families remember the delight of family read-alouds, discussions of books over the dinner table, and developing our own inside jokes, all based on particular books from which we know specific stories or entire quotations by heart. Beloved books become more than just steady companions—they shape and reshape the family’s language and imagination.

What does one do in a home that is packed full of books but lacks any other sort of entertainment—a television or gaming system or other electronic devices? The answer is obvious: one reads, both separately and together. Earlier today, I peeked into the living room after we had finished some other homeschooling tasks and house chores. One child was on the couch with a book on American presidents he had pulled off his father’s shelf. Another child was listening to an audiobook we had just checked out from the library. Both were enthralled for well over an hour before I called them to move on to another task.

This brings us to another related piece of the puzzle: the shaping of attention spans. I was surprised to realize over the past year that my five-year-old can now follow complex stories, as she listens to read-alouds and books on tape. While her reading skills are still in their infancy, she could easily delight in the adventures of Pippi Longstocking, Mary Poppins, and the protagonists of Wind in the Willows. This is promising—once her actual reading skills catch up, she will be able to read these books for herself as well instead of relying exclusively on others to read them for her. But it is also shocking to realize that her attention span and comprehension skills in following a complex plot for hundreds of pages are already beyond those of some high-school graduates who have not read complete books.

For those of us alarmed about stories of the decline of literacy, this is good news. It means that for parents who wish their children to never star in such cautionary tales, the solution is at hand—regardless of whether they homeschool or send their children to public or private schools. Be bold, fill your home with physical books—lots of them!—and see what happens. The results of this particular experiment are nearly guaranteed. But it also requires the parents to live the same bookish life that they would like to instill in their children—a life in which books are cherished companions and a delight to share with family and friends, rather than just that thing one does alone with much visceral suffering and only because of a school requirement.

It is a reality not frequently enough acknowledged: like so many other things in life, the love of reading is caught, not taught.

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