Can You Read?
For many people, the answer is "no" more often than they think // A note on Flowers for Algernon
This short essay was originally a note, which was originally a tweet. If you like the essay, I’d love to hear from you.
"Can you read?" For a lot of people the answer to this question—in many ways—is "no."
They can certainly run their eyes over short, simple English text and understand it, but they don't currently have the capacity to, at-will, easily take in things like books, essays, or more complex written media.
"I could read a book though." <> "I could quit smoking any time I want." <> "I could start going to the gym." But do you? Think of it as "revealed capacity."
I talk to a lot of people who express this thought: "I used to read books all the time when I was younger. I was a reader. But I can't remember the last time I really read a book, and I definitely don't do it regularly now."
This does reflect a real degradation in capacity. Whether it's brought on by algorithms is a separate question. The capacity loss is real. But it can be reversed.
Just like there is a whole different kind of life on the other side of physical fitness, there is a whole different kind of life on the other side of high-functioning literacy. But there isn't yet a good industry focused on helping adults regain their literacy in this way.
This is one of my 2025 ideas. If you would like to be able to read "hard books" again, or just read regularly again, I'd love to get a coffee and talk through where you are, why you think you're there, and what could be done. DM me, email me by responding to this post, or drop a comment.
Your "zombie era" is not only avoidable, you can likely get to a place where it's not even a threat or a temptation. But it requires training.
Many people look at social media/phones in their personal lives and think (explicitly or otherwise) "I guess I'll just live with this as best as I can, but it's hard to do it well."
I do not think like that at all, and the digital world doesn't create guilt/bad times for me. I love social media, but it's not a threat to my reading, my productivity, or my inner life. But, like physical fitness, this state of mind is the result of deliberate, conscious action that has crystalized into easy, enjoyable habit over time.
There is a different way to live. Rage against the dying of the mind. Turn back the the fall of Algernon.
Some other thoughts:
An aside on Flowers for Algernon
Daniel Keyes published the novel Flowers for Algernon in 1966, after first publishing it as a short story in 1959. It is one of my favorite books, and I reread it about once a year. It is also one of the most heart-wrenching, quietly horrifying things I have ever encountered.
In the story, scientists develop a treatment that allows a mouse, Algernon, to become vastly more intelligent. They then apply this treatment to a man of sub-normal intelligence, Charlie, and watch as he becomes more intelligent than any human alive, even to the point that he takes over managing the intelligence experiment with himself and Algernon as subjects.
The book is styled as Charlie’s diary. At the beginning the prose is simple and broken, and it blooms wonderfully as the “treatment” works. He easily learns more languages, discovers the world through books, advanced mathematics, and more. But eventually the treatment wears off for both him and Algernon, and the reader is helpless to watch as the book’s prose descends toward its original quality.
The part of the book that stays with me in when Charlie realizes, through the brilliant power of his new mind, that the treatment is degrading, and that he is regressing. He is still intelligent enough to realize what is happening to him, and to grieve what he is losing, but he is powerless to stop it. And, eventually, when he descends back to his previous state, we see that he can’t even conceive of what he had. He is kind of happy, even.
It breaks me every time. Of course, almost every human must deal with this phenomenon in some way. We all get old—we all bear witness to our degrading capacities, helpless to reverse the decline. Some of us get dementia or another neurodegenerative disease that, in its early stages, is exactly like the moment where Charlie realizes the treatment is wearing off. Others of us watch this happen to our loved ones.
However: I’m reminded of a medical appointment I had at the beginning of my course of chemotherapy. The medical technician (I must admit I don’t remember the professional title exactly) was an older Japanese man who spoke in a beautifully accented English. As he injected me with a radioactive tracer for a PET scan, he looked me in the eyes and, with tranquil confidence, said: “Do not worry. Technology will save you.”
May it yet save us all.
Daniel just getting around to reading this and it’s excellent. We’re both focusing on the same ideas I think which makes me feel like I’m in good company.