What's in a book?

Why do we read? Strange question coming from someone that would like you to read what he writes, but I’m not talking about the concept of reading, the transfer or sharing of information via the written word, I’m talking about the fiction reading we do for fun, be it novels or short stories, hardback or Kindle. I mean, there’s television, right? And movies. They tell stories. Sometimes they tell stories from books. Surely that’s better. They give you exactly what a book gives you, so what’s the point in reading? Two and a half hours and I can digest the same story that may take you weeks to read, case closed, move along, nothing to see here.

Except I don’t believe that’s true. Yes, you can tell a story with a film or a television programme, sometimes very well, but I do not believe that you can get as rich a grasp on the most important part of a story, it’s characters, as you can in a well-written book. Ultimately, every story is about the characters. Film, TV, play or book, if you have wooden characters that I don’t have any reason to care for then I will switch off (sometimes just mentally), regardless of the fascinating plot, special effects and wonderful sets. I need to have an interest in these people and what happens to them, whether that’s because I care for them or because I really want to see them get what’s coming to them. It’s that emotional attachment, or judgement, that makes us keep going, keeps us turning the pages or leaning forward in our seats, and for emotions to form we need to have some sort of inkling about what is going on with that character, what motivates them. 

That’s where the best books and the cleverest authors can triumph over the tellybox every time. On screen we see an evil genius trying to destroy the world, performing horrible acts that no sane person would condone. He (or she; evil doesn’t have gender) is a one-dimensional character doing these things because he’s evil, and that’s what evil people do. There may be a bit of exposition along the way to say that his mother didn’t love him, he was bullied at school, or his pet gerbil ran off to join the circus, and that is supposed to explain why he hates the planet. It doesn’t explain where that leaves him when the world is burning, but who cares, he’s the bad guy. In the book we get to see inside (his head. You at the back, leave the room, we’ll have none of that here) and find out that he thinks he’s doing the right thing. We don’t just get to see his actions and his reactions, we get to hear his thoughts and his internal processing while he is acting. He is the protagonist, the hero of his own story, and there is a reason for everything he is doing. We as the reader may not condone his actions, may believe that we would behave differently in the same scenario given our superior moral compass, but we can see why he feels that what he is doing is right, and this in turn makes him a richer, more rounded character, instead of a cardboard caricature. We are privy to something that, within the story, only he is aware of and that draws us in. How long until the hero figures out what we know? Can’t they see they’re being manipulated? Are we complicit if we know something they don’t? Books can do this with one or multiple characters, good and bad, and we aren’t just relying on an actor’s ability to interpret or express the nuances of the script.

Books also give us a chance to take in every aspect of a story. We can notice every glance, see every twitch and be aware of every little thing that may become relevant to the plot further down the line. We read every word. We are shown everything. We must read sequentially and take in all that the author intends for us to read. Whether we choose to process and retain all of that information is up to us, but it is all there, without fail. Film and television, however, can misdirect. The important artefact is there in the room, but the heroine is talking and you can’t keep your eyes off her fantastic gluteus maximus, or the hero’s chiselled pecs, so how would you notice it? Sometimes a repeat viewing (or several) is needed to pick up on all these little things. You already know what is going to happen, perhaps the big twist has been revealed, and you can look out for all the clues the next time round (if you can get past that gluteus maximus, of course). The stain on the floor or the scuff on the shoe that explains everything, that points to the murderer, was there all along but last time you were distracted. 

In a book the only thing that is distracting you is you. There is no artistic panning past that cute actor's behind, there are only the words, and every word is there for a reason. The author has told you about that stain, explicitly. Whether you thought it was part of the environmental description when you read it is beside the point, you definitely read those words. You had to to get to the next sentence. The author can't put something there and hope that you noticed from the corner of your eye; if it's important it has to be in the words in front of you.

The last area where books can triumph is imagination. Your imagination. Film or television show you everything; the way the characters look; the monster in the closet; the heart-wrenching moment when the old man tells his wife he has cancer. We are shown these things, but we are removed from them. They are somebody else's interpretation of the words. Anyone that has read the book before seeing the film knows what I mean - nothing ever looks as we imagined it and sometimes that can be quite jarring. Done well, it can influence your interpretation of the way things should look. The Harry Potter films, for example; who doesn’t picture Hermione from the films when reading the books? But most of the time we struggle to reconcile the two and the reason is that the book is allowing your imagination to do a lot of the work, which means your interpretation of the book is unique to you. A book can give you a few details of a person, and then your brain will fill in the missing details in a way that only you can see. Consider the following:

The man pushed open the door and stepped into the room, his limp making the action awkward. He was unshaven, his shirt rumpled, and the scowl on his face only deepened when he saw the people already there…

Picture that man in your mind. You already have an idea what he looks like to you, I guarantee it, but I’ve told you very little. I’ve given you a few details and you have inferred the rest from your own life experiences, the people around you, things you’ve watched on television. What if I now told you that the man I’m describing is Gregory House MD, played by Hugh Laurie, from the television series House. Some of you will have that in your head already, but to some of you that would have been a shock, which is exactly my point. Interestingly, go back and read it again and I bet you can’t now picture it any other way. By giving you all of the information, showing you what this world looks like, I take something away from you. I take away your input and that means that the story is no longer your personal version of the story. Put 37 people in a cinema to see a film and every person there will see exactly the same thing. Get that group of people to read the same book; if you were then able to get a photograph of the main character from inside their heads you would end up with 37 different images. 

Books pull you in and make you part of the process, whether you realise it or not, and your imagination helps to craft a story that is yours and yours alone. Tell me that’s not special. Tell me that’s not better.