The good news is
that today’s teenagers are avid readers and prolific writers. The bad news is
that what they are reading and writing are text messages.
According to a survey carried out last year by Nielsen, Americans between the
ages of 13 and 17 send and receive an average of 3,339 texts per month. Teenage
girls send and receive more than 4,000.
It’s an unmissable trend. Even if you don’t have teenage kids, you’ll see other
people’s offspring slouching around, eyes averted, tapping away, oblivious to their
surroundings. Take a group of teenagers to see the seven wonders of the world.
They’ll be texting all the way. Show a teenager Botticelli’s Adoration of the
Magi. You might get a cursory glance before a buzz signals the arrival of the
latest SMS. Seconds before the earth
is hit by a gigantic asteroid or engulfed by a super tsunami, millions of lithe
young fingers will be typing the human race’s last inane words to itself:
C u later NOT :(
Now, before I am accused of throwing stones in a glass house, let me confess. I
probably send about 50 emails a day, and I receive what seem like 200. But
there’s a difference. I also read books. It’s a quaint old habit I picked up as
a kid, in the days before cellphones began nesting, cuckoolike, in the palms of
the young.
Half of today’s teenagers don’t read books—except when they’re made to.
According to the most recent survey by the National Endowment for the Arts, the
proportion of Americans between the ages of 18 and 24 who read a book not
required at school or at work is now 50.7 percent, the lowest for any adult age
group younger than 75, and down from 59 percent 20 years ago.
Back in 2004, when the NEA last
looked at younger readers’ habits, it was already the case that fewer than one
in three 13-year-olds read for pleasure every day. Especially terrifying to me
as a professor is the fact that two thirds of college freshmen read for
pleasure for less than an hour per week. A third of seniors don’t read for
pleasure at all.
Why does this matter? For two reasons. First, we are falling behind
more-literate societies. According to the results of the Organization for
Economic Cooperation and Development’s most recent Program for International
Student Assessment, the gap in reading ability between the 15-year-olds in the
Shanghai district of China and those in the United States is now as big as the
gap between the U.S. and Serbia or Chile.
But the more important reason is that children who don’t read are cut off from
the civilization of their ancestors.
So take a look at your bookshelves. Do you have all—better make that any—of the
books on the Columbia University undergraduate core curriculum? It’s not
perfect, but it’s as good a list of the canon of Western civilization as I know
of. Let’s take the 11 books on the syllabus for the spring 2012 semester: (1)
Virgil’s Aeneid; (2) Ovid’s Metamorphoses; (3) Saint Augustine’s Confessions;
(4) Dante’s The Divine Comedy; (5) Montaigne’s Essays; (6) Shakespeare’s King
Lear; (7) Cervantes’s Don Quixote; (8) Goethe’s Faust; (9) Austen’s Pride and
Prejudice; (10) Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment; (11) Woolf’s To the
Lighthouse.
Step one: Order the ones you haven’t got today. (And get War and Peace, Great
Expectations, and Moby-Dick while you’re at it.)
Step two: When vacation time comes around, tell the teenagers in your life you
are taking them to a party. Or to camp. They won’t resist.
Step three: Drive to a remote rural location where there is no cell-phone
reception whatsoever.
Step four: Reveal that this is in fact a reading party and that for the next
two weeks reading is all you are proposing to do—apart from eating, sleeping,
and talking about the books.
Welcome to Book Camp, kids.