When books become a performance
The article explores a growing discomfort with what some are calling "performative reading"—a practice that views the act of reading not as a private absorption but as a curated display. Choosing Infinite Jest, by David Foster Wallace, or Ulysses, by James Joyce, is less about narrative immersion and more about intellectual signalling, so the argument goes. And thanks to TikTok and Bookstagram, where aesthetics often take precedence over depth, some claim we’re less focused on the story and more on the scene.
An experiment in public reading
The writer tested the theory by taking Infinite Jest, an encyclopedic novel considered the ultimate hipster litmus test, into the world: parks, cafes, and a bar. They expected raised eyebrows, ironic smirks, perhaps even a viral backlash. Instead, they received nothing, no comments, no viral fame, just one kind word from a stranger who had read it too. A quiet moment of literary recognition, unmediated by performance.
The deeper discomfort
So why all the fuss?
The anxiety about being seen reading certain books reflects something deeper. As attention spans decrease and AI-generated content floods our feeds, deep reading feels more radical. To pick a dense, sprawling novel in a public place isn't just an aesthetic choice, it’s a declaration of intent. But it’s also vulnerable. It opens us up to judgment, misinterpretation, or worse: being mistaken for someone trying too hard. And, let’s face it, people can be judgy.
But isn’t that the risk of doing anything sincerely?
Reading as Resistance
Reading in public isn't inherently performative. It only becomes so when we let others’ imagined judgments override our genuine desire to read. And perhaps, just perhaps, it’s acceptable to read Infinite Jest in a café because you love David Foster Wallace’s wandering brilliance, or simply because you're curious. Or because you felt like it.
It’s easy to forget that reading is one of the few truly private acts we still carry into public life. In a world that promotes constant engagement, sitting quietly with a book becomes an act of resistance. It indicates you’re not available for small talk or superficial distraction; you’re elsewhere. It’s no wonder that unsettles some.
Aesthetic or Authentic?
Of course, there are readers who lean into the aesthetic. There are #currentlyreading reels with flickering candles and hardbacks barely opened. But perhaps the real distinction isn’t about performance versus sincerity. Perhaps it’s about generosity. The generous reader isn’t trying to prove anything. They’re simply inhabiting the world of the book, and inviting, however subtly, others to do the same.
Books as conversation starters
There’s also something to be said for the kind of cultural shorthand a book offers. To read Beloved on the train or The Master and Margarita in a pub may invite connection, “I loved that too,” or “I could never finish it”, or “I’ve always meant to read that.” It’s a visual cue, a quiet declaration of taste or mood or intellectual appetite. Maybe it’s not performative. Maybe it’s just human.
Five reasons to read in public (unapologetically)
1. It invites genuine connection. A stranger might surprise you with a shared memory or unexpected recommendation.
2. It creates space for deep focus. Especially in a world of relentless screens.
3. It reclaims public space for interior life. Not everything has to be a performance.
4. It normalises reading culture. The more people see books in hands, the more they might pick up one themselves.
5. It reminds you that your reading life is yours. No explanation required.
A quiet celebration
Let’s stop asking whether a reader is performing and start asking why we’re so suspicious of reading at all. The real issue isn’t what book someone chooses, it’s that fewer people feel free to read in public without explanation.
So, here’s to the public readers, the ones with books cracked open on benches, pages turned on buses, lines whispered over tea. Whether you’re rereading Austen or trying to understand Joyce for the first time, your book belongs beside you. No justification needed.
Carry it proudly. Read it slowly. And if someone smirks? Let them. They might just be wishing they had the courage to open their own book.
What about you? Have you ever felt self-conscious reading a particular book in public? Or been surprised by a connection it sparked? Let us know in the comments. Or better yet, bring that book outside and read it anyway.
The Guardian —Is it okay to read the Infinite Jest in public