THE FUTURE OF READING

Press, Volume LXXIV, Issue 22515, 24 September 1938, Page 22

THE FUTURE OF READING

(specially written fob the press.)

[By lAN DONNELLY.]

iWithout wishing to notch the edge of my sword in controversy with M|r R. G. C. McNab, whose critical judgment I respect, or with M. Georges Duhamel, the distinguished French novelist, whom I once had the pleasure of saluting on a memorable social occasion in London, I feel, nevertheless, that there are disputable points in the somewhat gloomy thesis presented jointly by them on this page two or three weeks ago. So far I have not read M. Duhamel’s “In Defence of Letters,” the ; book which suggested to Mr McNab the theme for his article; but I assume that Mr McNab gave a just and competent summary of M. Duhamel’s case when he said: “Calm and restrained as he is, he cannot conceal his anxiety for the future of literature and his fear that wireless and film are weakening the minds and spirits of civilised beings.” In expressing his own view Mr McNab is fearful rather than dogmatic. He believes it possible that mechanical innovations such as wireless and the film' may undermine the cultural influence of books. “It is, indeed, still true that books have a greater potency than any of the other influences,” says Mr McNab; “but he would be venturesome who asserted that in 50 or 100 years books will still be the chief instruments of culture.” Throughout his article Mr McNab was tentative and inquiring, as any man must be who is speculating about the future; and I, too, will approach the subject in the same unaggressive fashion, for I would not care to have some totalitarian robot jeering at these words in 2038. I, must, however, affirm that I do not believe radio, television, the film,, or any other mechanical agency will deprive men of the pleasure they have from books, nor will they provide anything like a general substitute for books. Even if the creative minds of men are to function no more, there is enough human wisdom accumulated in books to keep readers occupied and amused until the end of time. The finest gleanings of great minds are available to us between covers; they have been for centuries, and they will—bombs permitting—be prized as long as intelligent people inhabit the earth. The Rare Bird Perhaps the best way of submitting the contra side of this discussion is to glance behind us, ,We have only to go back two decades to come to a time when radio and films were not exercising any cultural influence. What were the reading habits of the people then? Were they any different from what they are how? I think not. Where both M. Duhamel and Mr McNab are astray is in their ’ assumption that books and serious reading have been important factors in the lives of the majority. Reading of a kind has always been a popular diversion, and I think it still is in spite of the competition of film and radio. The commercial success of cheap libraries in New Zealand and elsewhere proves that; but the genuine book-loyer is,

An Answer to Discouraged Defendants

generally speaking, a pretty rare bird. I know of one man who takes books with him wherever he goes. They are always part of his luggage. Even when he was slogging through the mud of Flanders there was room in his kit for Bosweli arid a Golden Treasury; but he was probably one soldier in 100. Books were as much a part of him as his hands. There are not many people, either, who could understand the recorded struggles of George Gissing, described so poignantly in “The Private Papers of .Henry Ryecroft.” Here is Gissing’s confession: Dozens of my books were purchased with money which ought to have been spent on the necessaries of life. : Many a time I have stood before a stall, or a bookseller’s window, torn by ar conflict of intellectual desire and bodily need. At the very hour of dinner, when mv stomach clamoured for food, I have been stopped by sight of a volume so long coveted, and marked at so advantageous a price, that I could not let it go; yet to buy it meant pangs of famine. Lessons Untaught Although they are infrequently encountered, such examples of genuine devotion to books could be multiplied, and the point I seek to establish is that books have not been so popular in the past that their future must now, be thought to be menaced by mechanical counter-at-tractions. It is disagreeable to say what I am going to say, specially so now in view of one of Mr McNabs statements. After commenting on the use of wireless and cinema in education, he Viewed the development of this method of instruction with misgiving, saiying: “The" teacher’s gracious or strong personality will be circumscribed in its influence, and even fewer human beings will learn one of the best lessons of education —the proper use of books.” , . .. . There are, I am much afraid, too few teachers capable of teaching their little victims the proper use of books. I count myself fortunate m having had dealings in my own secondary school days with two men who did strive to impart that lesson; but it is astonishing how far people can go in academic life without acquiring a love of books or even falling under the influence of teachers who possess and can impart it. Unwillingness to offend is all that prevents me from mentioning distressing examples. As It, Always Was In eager quest for symptoms of decay Mr McNab writes: “Is most reading thoughtful and earnest, or passive and shallow? Do bookshops deal in easy, weak books more than in hard, strong books? Is it possible that the ease of subjecting oneself to film and wireless is being ; imported into reading?” A number .of answers may be given to those questions; but for a start a reference to Boswell may be helpful. Here is Dr. Johnson; speaking near the end of his life: . People in general do not willingly read, if they have anything else to a»use them. There must be an external impulse; emulation, or vanity, or avarice. • The progress which the understanding makes through a book has more pain than pleasure in it. Language is scanty, and inadequate to, express the nice gradations and mixtures of our feelings. No man reads a book of science from pure inclination. The books that we do read with pleasure are Tight compositions -which contain a quick succession of events. There-is a great deal of passive and shallow reading done, and those who deserve the grand title - of bookman are entitled to ask with the Roman poet quoted in Burton’s “Anatomy of Melancholy”: , Who reads such stuff, what does he learn to know . Save idle dreams artti vain frivoli- ■ -ties? ■ But ! there the fact is;'nothing can be done about it, and in justice, too, these - cheaper tastes should -not be ascribed to recent malign inventions. . Although Mr McNab may be agile enough to avoid the onslaught, I do not wish to continue throwing confounding, quotation?, at his head; but there is one more, chanced upon recently in a collection of essays by „

W. Robertson Nicoll, an honest, urbane, and deeply informed critic. In an essay, on “Learning to Read,” he said: I have never heard anyone say, “I do not care for reading; it bores me and worries me.” But I have heard very many say that they regret extremely that they have never been able to read as much as they would like. They never have had sufficient time. As a matter of fact, no one who really cared for reading was ever deterred from it by want of time; in fact, 1 make bold to say that only a small proportion of people have learned m a proper sense how to read. Our expensive system of education makes it certain that everypne can read in a fashion, and a large number have the power of studying for an object. For example, if they are competing for ■ a university scholarship they will master the books set for the examination, but I am afraid that those persons who have learned to read in the sense that they can discriminate between what is good and bad, and that they read the best with delight and relish, are few, and this is surely a very great misfortune. The Tradition of a Minority As fair as I can see, then, neither Mr. McNab nor M. Duhamel has valid cause for the fear that appreciation of the written word will atrophy in the future. Literature, even though it is so potent an agency of culture, has ever been the cherished possession of few rather than of many, I hope there is no hint of priggishness in this assertion; but the sure test is how many people look upon books as essential material and spiritual possessions. How many women,- for example, would sooner have a new set of books than a new dress? How many men would trim their expenditure on certain baser items of living to be able to possess books? There are as few noW as there ever were. But the race of readers and lovers of books will not be killed by radio and the cinema, or by any possible extension of these inventions. If Paris exists 50 years hence, there will still be wanderers about those 'old stalls on the banks of the Seine; the secondhand shops in London will continue to attract the contemporary counterparts of George Gissing; and it is probable that a century hence other McNabs and Duhamels will be speculative prophets of decay. “Qf making many books there is no end.”* Why? Because the faithful few who set .the deepest marks upon their time will always wish to read them. *