The Reader Online

Congratulations to the winners of this year’s Guardian Charity Awards: InterAct Reading Service, a one-to-one reading service based in hospitals that helps people who have suffered strokes and the Shannon Trust, which works with the prison service to encourage inmates to help other prisoners learn to read.

Congratulations to the winner of the Champion of Education Award, Homewood Sunshine Readers, who bring young children and elderly people together to read with one another. A simple, moving and inspirational idea.

‘Seriously addictive’. ‘Once you’ve started it’s hard to stop’.

The above are slogans that are to be used in the latest campaign for the promotion of reading, though you would be forgiven for thinking otherwise. The initiative, which to begin with will target existing book buyers, has been deemed ‘edgy [...] clever, fun, flexible, memorable’ and ‘a PR catapult’. Such praise of the campaign is hardly surprising, when you consider that it comes from Damian Horner, the man responsible for creating the concept: “Bookaholism”. The project was first initiated by Publisher’s Association CEO Simon Juden and carried through at the Book Industry Conference in order to kick-start the PR stunt and encourage people to buy more books.

Though the campaign will firstly be aimed at those who already purchase books, its creator believes it will also be effective if targeted at those less enthusiastic readers who ‘Quick Reads’ are currently aimed at, with the long term objective being to ‘build (the campaign) into a holistic concept’. Though the overall purpose is obviously to promote books, we’re wondering if it can be right to promote them with the negative associations that inevitably come with addiction. Horner’s slogans of ‘Class A Reading Material’ and ‘Get Hooked on a Book’ certainly make an impact, but is it in the right way? Is this idea of Bookaholism and addiction the only way to inspire and encourage people to pick up a book? Or, as Damian Horner says, will people be just as open to professing themselves ‘Bookaholics’ as they will ’shopaholics and chocaholics’?

We can only wait and see as to what Horner will be promoting as his ‘Class A Reading Material’…

Casi Dylan, Read to Lead Training Manager, writes to tell us of her experiences in Parc Prison:

I just got out of prison. Parc Prison, near Bridgend, south Wales. A prison for men in the land of my fathers. And I’m thinking in a way that has never been quite so pertinent about The Big Issues: the nature of freedom and confinement and justice and things like that. And education. And in my hand, I’m playing with a rose, an unexpected parting gift. A bright red rose made of bread and glue.

This flower (kind after-thought rather than romantic gesture) was given to me by my guide for the afternoon, Phil Forder, Arts Intervention Manager at Parc Prison. Eager to investigate the possibilities of developing Get Into Reading at Parc, he had invited me over to get a feel for the arts and education programme that he and his colleagues run, as well as for the prison environment itself. It’s a large institution, keeping over 1000 men and boys up on a green hill above a grey town. It reminds me of a big gym, full of echoes, testosterone and tattoos.

Phil takes me to the education department where men improve their English and maths, and to the speckled art rooms where youngsters make paintings and pots to send home to mum. He takes me to the library, where Sian the librarian tells me about her attitude to reading groups, which is wonderfully similar to that of The Reader Organisation’s.

It’s very relaxed – we always have some tea on the go. We’ve read some great books: White Teeth, Of Mice and Men. They bring out some good stuff. One of the prisoners told us the other day that he loves Classical music. He’d never admit to that on his wing, mind

She is relieved to hear that others with a similar ethos are developing reading groups ‘on the outside’; unsurprisingly, one can feel a bit isolated inside Parc.

‘We have to get Get Into Reading going in here’, I think.

Then Phil takes me to see a cell in B Wing. Young offenders. The air is full of after-shave, the walls tacked with FHM. The curtains incongruously frilly.

‘It’s very small in here,’ I think.

And at the end of the afternoon, Phil hands me the bread rose. ‘A prisoner made it,’ he says. ‘He refused to leave his cell for weeks, didn’t come to classes, but presented a bunch of these to me one day. He’s made it from bread and glue, squeezed it flat and folded it into this. It’s quite beautiful isn’t it?’

It is. And sad. Somehow appallingly sad that from his daily portion, behind a thick door, an invisible inmate fashioned such immaculate fragility. Having hardened myself to what I had expected to encounter at Parc, I had not realised how vulnerable I was to such softness. And yet, from my experience with the revelations that Get Into Reading often inspires, I should have known to expect such human surprises. And I should be happy, not sad, in the thought that there is fertile ground for Get Into Reading in a Parc where bread roses grow.

We’ve come up with a new concept: ‘Slow Reads’. Rather than promoting books which can be read quickly – yes, you guessed it: ‘Quick Reads’ - that are skimmed over and then forgotten, we want to know; what’s wrong with taking the time to enjoy your reading material?

It’s a question that Kate McDonnell will surely find the answer to, as she and her Wallasey Reading Group embark upon the story of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. Armed with twelve copies kindly provided by Oxford University Press, the novel will take Kate, manager for Get Into Reading, and her group months to complete. Here, Kate talks us through the thinking behind her decision, and we find out what the reaction to Tolstoy has been like so far…

Whenever I present a page of  four ‘books ‘n’ blurbs’ to the members of the Friday afternoon Get Into Reading group at Wallasey Central Library to help us choose what we’ll read next, somebody always says, ‘Can’t we read them all?’

This time they’ve gone for our biggest read yet: Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, which fought off fierce opposition from Dombey and Son.

Oxford University Press, when they heard, kindly donated a lovely set of twelve books, and we’ve had them stacked up on the table at the beginning of the session in a giant and impressive tower!

Yes, it IS long – more than 800 pages, in fact – and it will probably take us about 9 months to read aloud, page by page, from cover to cover. Then there are the polysyllabic Russian names to get your tongue round, and sections on Russian farming to puzzle over, but we’re all hugely looking forward to it.

Two weeks in (we read 13 pages in Week One, 19 in Week Two), initial reactions bode well:

I thought something by Tolstoy would be really dense, but it’s really easy to read.

I’ve never read anything like it – the way he puts the characters over, you can get to know them really well.

Just reading these first few pages – it really draws you in.

Group members have varying degrees of reading experience and no one (apart from me!) has read it before, but already we’re getting comfortable thinking about the characters: Oblonsky – how come we still seem to like him despite the fact that he’s just cheated on his wife? Why is he always ‘expanding his chest’? (‘Because he’s breathing life in?’ as someone suggested).

The first week’s reading ended with a bit of a domestic between him and his betrayed wife, Dolly, territory we could recognise only too well, and we finished the session with a poem called ‘The Quarrel’ by Conrad Aiken, in which a row between a couple unaccountably melts away when they hear music drift in from next door:

….and in the instant

The shadow had gone, our quarrel became absurd;

And we rose, to the angelic voices of the music,

And I touched your hand, and we kissed, without a word.

There were resonances between the texts, comments on how ‘surface’ Dolly and Oblonsky seem in comparison with these lovers who connect in a space beyond words.

Week Two brought more thoughts of love, as well as a passage which I thought could be tricky. We met Levin for the first time: ‘He’s very brittle, isn’t he?’ suggested one reader.

I wondered what people would make of Chapter 7, in which Levin calls on his brother, Koznyshev, and ends up being drawn into a discussion he’s having with a professor about ‘whether a definite line exists between psychological and physiological phenomena in human activity’. Most readers confessed to feeling a bit lost during their argument and were glad when Levin asked a clear question which cut to the chase. ‘They’re just showing off really, aren’t they?’ someone said and recognized the professor’s, ‘We have not the data…’ as a fob off.

I think I speak for all when I say that we found Chapter 9, in which Levin tracks Kitty down at the skating rink, both funny and touching. He loves her and is terrified to tell her in case it spoils everything, but at the same time he reads meaning into her every word and gesture. Some of us remembered feeling like this ourselves!

‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘this is life – this is joy! She said, “Together: let us skate together”! Shall I tell her now? But that’s just why I’m afraid of speaking. Now I am happy, if only in my hopes – but then? …But I must…I must…I must…! Away with this weakness!’

We discussed deliberately persisting in a state of ignorance in order to prolong hope and were helped in this by reading William Meredith’s poem ‘The Illiterate’, at the end of the session:

Touching your goodness, I am like a man

Who turns a letter over in his hand

And you might think this was because the hand

Was unfamiliar but, truth is, the man

Has never had a letter from anyone;

And now he is both afraid of what it means

And ashamed because he has no other means

To find out what it says than to ask someone.

His uncle could have left the farm to him,

Or his parents died before he sent them word,

Or the dark girl changed and want him for beloved.

Afraid and letter-proud, he keeps it with him.

What would you call his feeling for the words

That keep him rich and orphaned and beloved?

What, indeed. As well as illuminating Levin’s difficulty in reading the signs – in wanting to know how Kitty feels about him, but not wanting to know at the same time – the poem also triggered talk about literal illiteracy, with one reader, who works as a support worker for people with learning disabilities, telling of how ‘letter-proud’ the folk he cares for can be, preserving football coupons as cherished objects because they have writing on them and someone else spoke of the moment before opening an important letter when so many outcomes are possible.

I’m hoping that other people in the group will join in writing the occasional AK blog which we’ll post as we progress, but, in the meantime, it’s still a great opening sentence…

All happy families resemble one another, each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

…and now don’t you just want to read on?

Can anyone help with this?

I want to read a book of thinking about ‘community’.

I mean, by those inverted commas, something like a particular take on community: how people can be together, or why they do, or why it is in our DNA (is it?) and why the word has so much in the way of  religous overtones… and is ‘community’ always  semi-religous? I’d like it to be a thought-book rather than fiction… but I’m not very good at reading heavy duty philosophy.

I’d be happy if it was old… if it was great… but I’ll take what you got.  Reading lists please.

The Institute for the Future of the Book is running an ‘experiment in close reading’ in which seven women are reading Doris Lessing’s The Golden Notebook and carrying on a conversation about it in the margin. While the comment area–the virtual page margin–is only open to the seven there is also a forum where the rest of us can weigh in on the novel and on the experiment itself. Bob Stein, who is managing the project, emphasises that the best way to read the book is to buy or borrow a copy, but the online version is nicely done. I wonder whether this really adds a great deal to the large, diverse, and often complex conversational output of literary bloggers and their commenters, while the idea that “we don’t yet understand how to model a complex conversation in the web’s two-dimensional environment” is disputed by at least one commentator. It might also be disproved by arguably the largest and most complex conversation in history, Wikipedia. Nevertheless the level of detail this format makes possible is certainly intriguing as an opening up of the seminar room. Here’s what Bob has to say:

On November 10th, The Institute for the Future of the Book kicks off an experiment in close reading. Seven women will read Doris Lessing’s The Golden Notebook and carry on a conversation in the margins. The idea for the project arose out of my experience re-reading the novel in the summer of 2007 just before Lessing won the Nobel Prize for literature. The Golden Notebook was one of the two or three most influential books of my youth and I decided I wanted to “try it on” again after so many years. It turned out to be one of the most interesting reading experiences of my life. With an interval of thirty-seven years the lens of perception was so different; things that stood out the first-time around were now of lesser importance, and entire themes I missed the first time came front and center. When I told my younger colleagues what I was reading, I was surprised that not one of them had read it, not even the ones with degrees in English literature.  It occurred to me that it would be very interesting to eavesdrop on a conversation between two readers, one under thirty, one over fifty or sixty, in which they react to the book and to each other’s reactions. And then of course I realized that we now actually have the technology to do just that. Thanks to the efforts of Chris Meade, my colleague and director of if:book London, the Arts Council England enthusiastically and generously agreed to fund the project. Chris was also the link to Doris Lessing who through her publisher HarperCollins signed on with the rights to putting the entire text of the novel online.

Fundamentally this is an experiment in how the web might be used as a space for collaborative close-reading. We don’t yet understand how to model a complex conversation in the web’s two-dimensional environment and we’re hoping this experiment will help us learn what’s necessary to make this sort of collaboration work as well as possible. In addition to making comments in the margin, we expect that the readers will also record their reactions to the process in a group blog. In the public forum, everyone who is reading along and following the conversation can post their comments on the book and the process itself.

Here’s the link again to The Golden Notebook.

Posted by Chris Routledge

Earlier this year, Jane Davis went to Chicago to visit Rebecca and La Coya who run a literature based outreach programme called Literature for All of Us. There are many similarities with this project and Get Into Reading: Literature for All of Us works with teen mothers and other young people in underserved neighbourhoods, bringing the rewards of reading and writing to them and in doing so, building communities of readers, writers and critical thinkers.

After Obama’s victory last week, Jane got in touch with the ladies at Literature for All of Us to send her congratulations. Below is a taste, direct from the ladies in Chicago, as to what it was like to be there:

05 November 2008

Last night was amazing. Historical. Monumental. Electrified. Beautiful. Although I didn’t have a ticket to get into the area of Grant Park where Barack Obama was speaking, some friends and I still went down there. As did hundreds of thousands of others. And here is where I begin to lose words. Who can say how a mass of humanity all convened for one purpose, for one dream, for one goal really feels. You might say it was politics at its best. You might say it was democracy in action. You might say it was the moment optimism becomes reality. It felt like all of that. And it felt like more. And it felt like something that can never be communicated.

All I know is I stood in a crowd of people and I let myself believe. I was a staunch skeptic until about 9 p.m. when I finally gave in to the tiniest sliver of me that just WANTED to believe that this would happen. That Barack Obama would be our next President. So I bought a shirt that said so. And I wore it. And my heart believed it.

I watched with the masses as at almost exactly 10 p.m. CNN projected Barack Obama as the next President of the United States of America. I jumped up and down. I hugged my friends. I shouted. And shouted some more. And shouted some more. I danced. I laughed. I repeated, “Oh my god. Oh my god,” about 37 times in a row. I made eye contact and traded ecstatic laughs with jubilant strangers. I watched as McCain gave a concession speech and I admitted I had to give him props – I actually thought it was pretty gracious and respectful; I mean, at least the dude did what he could to quell the White Supremacist anger. I thanked the heavens above that it was the last time I had to listen to that man call me his fucking friend. I waited and waited for President-Elect Obama.

And then the instrumental music began. The video ran. The air was static with energy. The crowd — of hundreds of thousands — was quiet. And then The Man himself came on stage. He spoke. He spoke beautifully, respectfully, inspirationally. He was so damn Presidential. He was poised, confident and honest. He thanked those who were instrumental in his success – those who he knew by name, by name, those he didn’t, by spirit. He spoke of work ahead. He spoke of humility and repairing the trust that has been lost over the last 8 years. He spoke of collective action – of engaged citizenry. He spoke the words over and over which have become the mantra of not only his campaign but every person watching and rejoicing with him that night: “Yes, we can.” And we all repeated it with him. And we all believed him. And then there was joy. There was pride. There was unrelenting hope.

As President-Elect Obama closed out his speech and was joined by Vice President-Elect Biden and their families, the crowds began to stream away. My friends and I moved closer to the JumboTron. And I broke into sobs. I cried and cried and cried. I was overwhelmed with emotion. This was a moment forever in the making. And this man — for whom this moment was always intended — was walking his path with such poise and purpose and humility.

More happened that night. I eventually went to sleep. And woke up today. Exhausted and with only one thought in my head: “They let him have it. They really let him have it. I cannot BELIEVE they let him have it.” And throughout the day I have stopped and broken out in new bouts of tears which will not be denied by my eyes. I didn’t know I would feel this way. I am overwhelmed. This man, this man who looks like my father and my brother and my nephew has some respect and dignity and power in this country. We gave it to him. And they let him have it. They really let him have it. I am astounded. And amazed. And emotional. I am proud. And humbled. And feeling blessed. And feeling grateful. And feeling everything all at once.

Last Friday I went along to the START centre in Salford to observe my first Get Into Reading session. I was more excited than nervous – just raring to go and get reading. I had heard Amanda Brown, who was to lead the session, reading at my training day in August, so knew that whatever happened I’d be in for a good story well told. 

As we paused a few pages into Jane Gardam’s short story, The Pangs of Love, I was really impressed and pleased by the group’s readiness to discuss the piece. The story dealt with ideas concerning feminism and male and female roles both in myth and modern society – something that everyone in room related to on one level or another. Two members of the group, Sam and Jill, were very well read and suggested further reading on these subjects themselves. It was also a joy to see Richard, who did not have the same background in reading as the others, tripping over himself to get to read the next passage. We all shared a good laugh over Gardam’s irreverent perspective on Hans Christian Anderson’s Little Mermaid (the handsome Prince is ‘good in the bath’ rather than bed!) and really got into character whilst reading U A Fanthorpe’s Not My Best Side. Jill’s young St George was particularly memorable. The poem also allowed discussion of Uccello’s painting Saint George and the Dragon, leaving us all feeling rather cultural all round!

The session also drove home to me how social the act of reading really is. As the group negotiated the pile of novels plonked before them in order to choose their reading for the next few weeks, the more experience members seemed to have made a conscious decision to choose a work that would appeal and be accessible to everyone involved. David Almond’s Skellig came out on top, a simple book with great depth, and something that will please Sam and Jill as well as Richard. 

I was as impressed with the people in my group as I was with the START centre itself; it seemed to be a warren of creativity. Around each corner was another group at work, another collage, another painting. Here’s to the new GIR group adding another splash of colour!

Posted by Casi Dylan

The Reader Organisation, which aims to put shared reading at the heart of everyday life, now runs ‘Read to Lead’ training programmes:

The ‘Read to Lead’ One-Day Workshop provides an introduction to the principles of ‘Get Into Reading’ for anyone interested in bibliotherapy.

The ‘Read to Lead’ Five-Day Accredited Facilitator Training is an intensive residential course intended for people who wish to become accredited Get Into Reading facilitators.

·         September Course: Sun 21st – Fri 26th September 2008 (Application Closed)

·         January Course: Sun 18th – Fri 23rd January 2009

(Above) Someone who may have benefited from reading.

Through its Get Into Reading initiative The Reader Organisation has been promoting the therapeutic value of reading for people with mental illnesses, Alzheimer’s sufferers, as well as in prisons and other institutional settings. There is some evidence to suggest that reading, and in particular reading aloud, can have a beneficial effect both on general wellbeing and in rehabilitation. But research undertaken at West Lancashire University College suggests that reading literature may lead to more obvious physical improvements. Lead researcher Catherine Morland of the Heroine Rehabilitation Centre at WLUC claims in an article to be published in the journal Book Health that reading can improve skin tone, help rebuild injured muscles, and even prevent hair loss. She commented:

This research is at an early stage and while I’ve learned over the years not to take anything at face value, there does seem to be a marked physical effect connected with reading. Everyone will recognise the stereotypes: the pale, long-haired poet, the ruddy-faced popular novelist and the stooped don. It has always been thought these physical stereotypes came from lifestyle, but in fact it seems to be reading itself that makes the difference. What you read and how you read it really can make you physically more attractive.

When asked if particular books might be useful in, say, curing obesity, or with dental hygiene issues, Professor Morland was careful not to be too specific. “All I would say is, stay away from Edgar Allan Poe or Mrs Radcliffe. My experience with Gothic novels is not encouraging.”

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