It’s been a while since there’s been a full-on screed here at Three Percent, but I’m ���Դڳܰ������ٱ����that not only is this article  getting some level of social media traction (people I truly respect have sent this to me, or written about it, but I feel like they haven’t read it, which is another sort of thinkpiece some blowhard wannabe pundit can pick up on), but that it was published in the first place.

Let’s start with the premise: College professors have noticed that college students at “elite” universities have trouble finishing complete books because in high school they have “never been required to read an entire book.” They are “assigned excerpts, poetry, and news articles, but not a single book cover to cover.” As a result, professors at Columbia have to trim their classes because these students can’t handle the reading load, and, presumably, culture is going down the shitter as a result. Horowitch: “To understand the human condition, and to appreciate humankind’s greatest achievements, you still need to read The Iliad—all of it.”

This argument is a perfect exemplar of today’s op-ed obsessed content economy: is it true? WHO KNOWS! But does it ���dzܲԻ���plausible? Does it give you something to rail against? FOR SURE. It’s Thanksgiving dinner fodder: “Kids sure are dumb these days. They can’t even read all of Crime and Punishment!” (“Generally, they only read ‘Crime'” is the most appropriate response.)

Let’s put aside the bad faith nature of Horowitch’s argument for a minute—and the question as to whether or not finishing War and Peace or The Iliad makes a discernible difference in one’s life, accomplishments, abilities—and just look at her research. Because, if you’re going to make a claim that “students can’t read books cover-to-cover anymore,” then you ���ܲ�����have some watertight data about reading trends comparing say, students in each decade from the 1950s till today, or even over the past twenty years, perhaps with an emphasis on reading stamina (we’re not even talking about comprehension, just the “ability” to read a book from start to finish, from page one till FIN) as impacted by the pandemic.

Well, because this is the fucking Atlantic, you shouldn’t be surprised that data is not only negligible, the totality of it exists in one of the squishiest evidentiary statements I’ve ever seen in print:

No comprehensive data exist on this trend, but the majority of the 33 professors I spoke with relayed similar experiences.

“No comprehensive data,” “majority of,” “similar experiences” = must be true!

Holy shit this is such bad reasoning. I don’t even have to pull the “small sample size” card for this one . . . Although, I do want to point out that NOT A SINGLE STUDENT was interviewed for this piece. Instead, it’s all anecdotal stuff that professors would say at a cocktail party for laughs and so that everyone could commiserate over how “teaching is so much harder now, because students are dumber.” Ah yes, we’re martyrs for Great Literature! Fighting the good fight against . . . smartphones?

After an anecdote from the chair of Georgetown’s English department about how students have “trouble staying focused on even a sonnet”:

Failing to complete a 14-line poem without succumbing to distraction suggests one familiar explanation for the decline in the reading aptitude: smartphones. Teenagers are constantly tempted by their devices, which inhibits their preparation for the rigors of college coursework—then they get to college, and the distractions keep flowing.

“Smartphones are distracting” is the weakest explanatory argument I can imagine for why college students don’t finish novels. Not only are smartphones distracting to everyone, young or old, book readers or not, but using this as the �DzԱ�����proposed explanation for this “problem” (which, again, may not be even true—there is no data) in the face of many others is the sort of argumentative mistake I would ding in an essay from one of my freshman students. Maybe the texts being assigned are truly boring? (1000% I’m checking sports scores instead of reading a sonnet.) Maybe students are truly overburdened by assignments in STEM classes? Maybe they finish a dozen unassigned books a semester, just not War and Peace?

That last flippant comment for why students don’t read every line of The Iliad actually points to what I think Horowitch is truly concerned about: It’s not that students don’t read books cover to cover, it’s that they don’t read the �����������books.

This is actually evidenced in “” by Carrie M. Santos-Thomas, a high school teacher who was interviewed by Horowitch for this piece.

As Horowitch points out, I am just “one public-high school teacher in Illinois,” but while professors at elite universities sound the alarm over Gen Z undergrads not finishing Les Miserables because they are uninterested in reading a pompous French man drone on for chapters about the Paris sewer system, my colleagues and I have developed professional toolboxes with endless other ways to inspire our students to read about justice, compassion, and redemption. [. . .]

Ishmael Beah’s A Long Way Gone, Ibi Zoboi’s American Street, and David Bowles’s The Prince and the Coyote, are all complex, challenging, and substantial texts that speak to the interests and experiences of my students, so it’s not a fight to get them reading. Frustratingly, despite the numerous examples I provided of students reading books cover-to-cover in my class, Horowitch opted to include only the unit that, like the original rhapsodes of the bronze age, I excerpt and abridge.

Here’s what Horowitch said about Santos-Thomas:

One public-high-school teacher in Illinois told me that she used to structure her classes around books but now focuses on skills, such as how to make good decisions. In a unit about leadership, students read parts of Homer’s Odyssey and supplement it with music, articles, and TED Talks. (She assured me that her students read at least two full texts each semester.)

Again, the logic of this paragraph—used to be structured around books, but now the �������������unit includes music and TED Talks—is so flimsy that, again, I would push back on a freshman who included this in a paper. (And that’s not to take shots at freshman; of the 33 freshman I’ve taught, “the majority” could write papers of “similar quality” to Horowitch’s “article.”)

I can’t let this rant hit its natural stopping point without pointing out the classism that’s both implicit in the article’s title (“oh the elite students can’t read! Clutching my pearls!”), and explicitly classist shit delineated below:

The issue that Dames and other professors have observed is distinct from the problem at community colleges and nonselective universities, where some students arrive with literacy and comprehension deficits that can leave them unable to complete collegiate courses. High-achieving students at exclusive schools like Columbia can decode words and sentences. But they struggle to muster the attention or ambition required to immerse themselves in a substantial text.

Yeah, those kids at community colleges and “nonselective universities” (gross) might not even be literate, so of course they can’t finish a book. But what about the future leaders of our country graduating from places like Yale! Which, of course, is where Horowitch went to . . . quite recently in fact.

At the prep school that I graduated from five years ago, I took a Jane Austen course my senior year. I read only a single Austen novel.

To be specific, Horowitch got her BA in History in May 2023. You wouldn’t know it given the agist hand-wringing she’s trafficking in, but again, The Atlantic is the worst magazine in America. Too bad they’re so concerned about students flipping pages from beginning to end, and not about being able to publish actually researched journalism.

The big news this week was Jeff Bezos’s announcement that Amazon.com is now selling more e-books than hardcovers. From the

Amazon.com Inc. said it reached a milestone, selling more e-books than hardbacks over the past three months. [. . .]

Amazon said Kindle device sales accelerated each month in the second quarter—both on a sequential month-over-month basis and on a year-over-year basis. But the statistics that Amazon shared were all relative—it didn’t share actual sales figures. The company has never said how many Kindle devices or e-books it has sold. [. . .]

Amazon painted a picture of accelerating growth in sales of e-books, which can be read on the Kindle and through software on a host of other devices, including Apple’s iPad and iPhone. The figures don’t include free e-books.

Over the past month, the Seattle retailer sold 180 Kindle books for every 100 hardcover books it sold, it said.

At one of the independent bookstore I used to work for the owner would always give us data on the store’s performance in a series of ratios. This was always extremely aggravating, since he’d project a bar graph with no scale, no numbers, a sliver of profit (how much? A million dollars? Ten?) and a lecture about how we were all wasting too much time reading and not organizing the shelves.

So I get why everyone’s critical of this statement, and granted it would be nice to know what actual figures are. (Although this is the book business . . . Real hard data, like, how about actual print runs?, isn’t all that easy to come buy. Even when hard data seems to exist—such as BookScan—a lot of effort is put into debunking that so that everything can remain as murky as possible.) That said, it’s interesting to note that sales of hardcover books at Amazon.com increased last year, and unless the sales of paperbacks plummeted (unlikely) it sounds like ebook sales were more supplementary than cannibalistic. And that’s interesting.

What I’d be interested in finding out is ebook sales by genre. Even if given in ratio form (for every 1 ebook sold of literature in translation, 70,000 business ebooks were sold), this would be interesting to know. And would sort of clarify the current scene a bit. Cause maybe not all ebooks are epubbed equally. Or whatever.

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Speaking of ebooks and their distribution, over at there’s a longish article on Google Editions and what it is:

So what does Google Editions add to the mix? The answer, based on conversations with Google representatives and bookseller—particularly among the independent stores—is that Google will be adding millions of digital titles for sale on any device with Internet access: smart phones, tablets, netbooks, desktops, and every digital reading device except Kindle, which for now at least continues to operate on a closed proprietary system. But Google and Amazon are continuing discussions, so that may yet change.

In preparation for its rollout, Google says that through its “Partnership Program” it has made deals with 35,000 publishers and scanned millions of titles. For now, if you go to Google Books, you can preview up to 20 percent of the title you select (go ahead and try it with a best-seller like The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo) and then choose from available options for purchase of the printed book. Assuming the program works as planned, Google Editions will put up for sale a vast universe of trade e-books, plus technical and professional titles and out of copyright works (which will be free) for use when, where and how the consumer chooses. The consumer will put the books they buy on Google’s cloud (which means its enormous servers) and can access their personal library at will. Suppose you start reading on your iPhone and switch to your tablet or desktop—the book will pick up where you left off.

In effect, Google Editions seems poised to become the world’s largest seller of e-books. If you’ve followed this issue in recent years, it may seem confusing that Google will be selling books while still in litigation with the Association of American Publishers and the Author’s Guild over the right to display the texts of millions books Google has scanned through its library project. That case applies solely to books obtained from cooperating libraries that made their collections available to Google to, in effect, give away, which is why the publishers objected. The settlement under consideration now in the courts would require Google to pay royalties for books it displays and gives authors the right to opt out of the program if they choose to do so. In any event, the outcome of that case has no bearing on the Google Editions enterprise, according to Google’s spokesmen.

This should be interesting . . .

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I still think it’s funny that the L.A. Times interviewed a twelve-year-old from a Rochester suburb for their but this article is pretty interesting. Starting from the p.o.v. that digital will change everything (sure, sure, beliefs and qualifications and dissents all noted), Alex Pham and David Sarno list a number of interesting reading and writing related websites. Because of my obsession with how people find out about books, this is the part I like the best:

“We’ve pretty much reached the point where the supply has now shifted to infinite,” said Richard Nash, former head of Soft Skull Press, a small New York publisher. “So the next question is: How do you make people want it?” Part of the answer may be found on a digital library and social networking site where millions of members can log in and chat about any book they want, including many that will never see print.

Lori Hettler of Tobyhanna, Pa., runs one of the largest book clubs on Goodreads, with nearly 7,000 members chiming in from all over the globe. Discussions can go on for hundreds of messages, with readers passionately championing — or eviscerating — the club’s latest selection.

I’ve really been getting into Goodreads over the past few months, especially now that it’s linked up with my Facebook account. It’s thanks to Goodreads that I found out about Albert Cossery.

And related to the series of posts I was writing about the future of reading, I mentioned Nicholas Carr’s The Shallows, the way using the Internet reconfigures your brain, how hyperlinks make it hard to remember shit, et cetera, et cetera. This bit from the end of the L.A. Times piece sort of reflects on that:

Whereas printed texts often are linear paths paved by the author chapter by chapter, digital books encourage readers to click here or tap there, launching them on side journeys before they even reach the bottom of a page. Some scholars fear that this is breeding a generation of readers who won’t have the attention span to get through “The Catcher in the Rye,” let alone “Moby-Dick.”

“Reading well is like playing the piano or the violin,” said the poet and critic Dana Gioia, former chairman of the National Endowment for the Arts. “It is a high-level cognitive ability that requires long-term practice. I worry that those mechanisms in our culture that used to take a child and have him or her learn more words and more complex syntax are breaking down.”

But Larry Rosen, a psychology professor at Cal State Dominguez Hills, said it was a mistake to conclude that young people learned less simply because “they are flitting around all over the place” as they read.

“Kids are reading and writing more than ever,” he said. “Their lives are all centered around words.”

Dr. Gary Small, director of the Center on Aging at UCLA and author of “iBrain,” said Internet use activated more parts of the brain than reading a book did.

On the other hand, online readers often demonstrate what Small calls “continuous partial attention” as they click from one link to the next. The risk is that we become mindless ants following endless crumbs of digital data. “People tend to ask whether this is good or bad,” he said. “My response is that the tech train is out of the station, and it’s impossible to stop.”

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But simply making things digital and available and whatever isn’t necessarily enough. Over at the always fascinating (and very well-designed) Penguin’s Tom Roberge has an interesting post about the Internet, hierarchy, and design (scroll down to “Annotations” section and look for “At Swim in the Shallows” to read the whole thing):

In a recent New York Times op-ed, David Brooks wrote, “The Internet smashes hierarchy and is not marked by deference. Maybe it would be different if it had been invented in Victorian England, but Internet culture is set in contemporary America. Internet culture is egalitarian.” This is a long-standing claim, and is on one level true: Internet access offers (near) universal freedom to create and disseminate information, and to consume it on the other end. But on another level, this assertion is complete bullshit: We all know that the Internet has its own hierarchy, that the virtual equivalent of the crazy homeless man ranting about UFOs shouldn’t be—and, generally, is not—taken seriously.

Consider design. Books, for several hundred years, have not changed much at all. The paper is nicer. The covers last longer. And the evolution of printing technology has allowed for prettier pictures. But the format has remained static since the letterpress days: One reads from left to right, top to bottom, turning the pages to make progress. The Internet, on the other hand, is almost infinitely malleable—but you need a good blacksmith. Which has led to a hierarchy: the nicer, the more professional looking a site is, the more respected it is. Which sort of negates the egalitarianism.