Deep reading is the type of reading that involves one’s undivided attention in a sustained manner to tackle a long-form book, like a novel. The feeling cultivated by deep reading is that of being lost in a book, taken to new worlds, enraptured by an alien train of thought. While many educators still feel that the importance of deep reading for education can hardly be overstated, that it is sacrosanct, the end-all-be-all of education, the winds are blowing a different direction. Beyond the basic literacy taught in early grade-school and the short-form, though still highly complex, reading skills needed to master the ACT or SAT, a student today could successfully make it through his or her education, perhaps even through a prime college and grad school, without ever having to engage in what I would call deep reading.
A notable example of this is told in professor Alan Jacobs’ book The Pleasures of Reading in an Age of Distraction (Oxford 2011). Joe O’Shea was president of the student government at Florida State and a Rhodes Scholar. At a lunchtime gathering for leaders to the university he boasted:
I don’t read books per se. I go to Google and I can absorb relevant information quickly. Some of this comes from books. But sitting down and going through a book from cover to cover doesn’t make sense. It’s not a good use of my time as I can get all the information I need faster through the web. (As quoted in Jacobs 72)
Professor Jacobs comments that Joe O’Shea was “obviously a very smart guy” and “has an excellent strategy”; however, his viewpoint suffers from thinking of reading simply “as a means of uploading data” (72).
That said, the ability to upload data is often precisely what the educational world wants students to do. This can be indicated by the nature of the tests that are given at the end of a unit. If students have successfully uploaded the relevant information, they will pass these tests, no matter how they did so. Data-mining is the skill of the internet age, and O’Shea is probably right to suggest that the short-from hyper-attention reading of internet pages will likely work just fine for the average student, let alone knowledge worker of the 21st century.
Near the climax of his book Alan Jacobs makes a stunning claim to differentiate deep reading from schooling:
Rarely has education been about teaching children, adolescents, or young adults how to read lengthy and complicated texts with sustained, deep, appreciative attention—at least, not since the invention of the printing press. (109)
For Jacobs this rather dire pronouncement (at least from the perspective of our educational renaissance) strikes a positive note related to the central purpose of his book, which is to commend the pleasures of reading on one’s own simply at whim for those faithful few who love and prefer reading even in the throes of our distracting age.
While Jacobs may express some genuine nostalgia for the education of a figure like St. Augustine—who “spent countless hours of his education poring over, analyzing word-by-word, and memorizing a handful of books, most of them by Virgil and Cicero” (109)—his ringing endorsement of how the Kindle (irony of ironies) restored deep reading to his own distracted brain, for instance, is emblematic of his love for deep reading with a modern twist. In fact, one of the strengths of Jacob’s book is his moderate viewpoint, neither embracing doom-and-gloom ludditism, nor ignoring the distracting elements of the internet age. (For more on the details of this distraction I highly recommend Nicholas Carr’s The Shallows: What the Internet Is Doing to Our Brains.)
But all of this continues to raise the question, to what extent should the narrow and old-fashioned skill of deep reading be a major goal of education. It doesn’t admit of an easy answer. Like many highly complex skills taught nowadays—higher mathematics comes to mind—it has to be conceded that the vast majority of students will likely never use such skills in their normal working life. A simplistic pragmatism can hardly be the determining factor. Of course, some students must learn calculus, if only for the fact that our society will need some engineers, and students are unlikely to enter upon an educational and career path that they have had little preparation for in earlier stages of education.
Perhaps the same sort of enlightened pragmatism can speak up for deep reading. Unless we try to make as many of our students as possible into deep readers, we are unlikely to get the requisite quantity and quality of deep readers to cause our culture to thrive. The Renaissance is a good example of the cultural flourishing promised by a recovery of the classical tradition of humane and deep reading, as well as of the arts.
While I’m certainly not claiming that this type of pragmatic argument for the importance of deep reading in education is the only or even the best one, it is nevertheless an argument that will likely appeal to our generation. In a way, it parallels the argument of a recent best-seller by Cal Newport, Deep Work: Rules for Focused Success in a Distracted World (Grand Central, 2016).
Cal Newport argues that in our increasingly distracted world, the skill of engaging in deep work of one kind or another is becoming more and more rare. Therefore, knowledge workers or other professionals who have the discipline to block out the distractions and focus on the deep work that involves the deliberate practice of their craft will quickly rise above the average knowledge worker in terms of the quality of what they produce. That’s because of his equation:
High-Quality Work Produced = (Time Spent) × (Intensity of Focus)
He calls this a “law of productivity” and, given the science on what distraction and attention-shifting does to our brain, it’s hard to argue with its basic logic (40). For instance, he cites research by Sophie Leroy on attention residue demonstrating that people perform poorly when interrupted and forced to switch to a new and challenging task (42).
Those who work deeply will therefore produce more and at a higher quality than those who don’t. Because of this, they are likely to be more valuable in their chosen profession, leading to their own personal success as well as benefiting society through their exceptional expertise.
Deep reading is simply one form of deep work. And perhaps it is one that is ideally suited to training students in the capacity for deep work generally. What could be more suited to adapting students to the necessity of blocking out all external stimuli and getting down to work, than the requirement to read a long-form book for extended hours out of their day? Although Joe O’Shea may be able to rig the current system in his favor through his shallow data-mining reading, he is unlikely to demonstrate the type of scholarly depth of insight characteristic of the deep reader. The quality of his understanding and the sheer volume of material comprehended is likely to be dwarfed by the committed deep reader. O’Shea may be able to pass multiple choice tests with flying colors, but what sort of research papers will he write? How creative and original will be his proposals? Will he be able to contribute the hard-won and game-changing conclusions that are most valuable to our world?
In essence, then, my contention is that the discipline of deep reading, precisely because it is so rare and arcane, is likely to give our students in the modern age an incredible leg up, an advantage over other students that can hardly be overstated. For the majority of iGen students, saturated in and addicted to the distractions of the internet, social media and the latest on Netflix, deep reading will remain an undesirable and increasingly impossible discipline to cultivate. The few deep readers among them will inevitably turn into the leaders and the culture-shapers of the next generation, disciplined as they have been to tune out the distractions and focus on practicing a valuable skill to mastery.