What are you reading for?
I was standing in Queen’s Square the other day, reading Ruben Reyes Jr’s excellent novel, Archive of Unknown Universes, when I noticed that I was getting a lot of stares.
It was Saturday afternoon, the second day of the incredible Idles’ Block Party summer events, and I was by myself. I do enough solo cinema trips to know that it’s ok to do things by yourself. However, I quickly found that standing by myself reading a book between sets was turning me into the oddball of the gig.
People kept walking past me, trying to get my attention, limboing under my hands to read the cover. Others, including a couple sitting in front of me, were stealth-snapping photos of me. I don’t think they realised that I could see their phone screens, their guffawing faces and the messages they were sending their friends. It was such a strange reaction to a guy reading a book.
And then someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around.
“Do you mind me asking… why are you reading?” he said.
I was taken aback. I had no good answer. Why was I reading?
Maybe I wouldn’t have been the oddball if I’d been reading the book on my phone
It reminded me of an old Bill Hicks joke. He’s talking about reading a book at a diner in Nashville. The waitress approaches him and asks, “What are you reading for?” Not “What are you reading?” but “What are you reading for?” I understand his frustration and confusion, though I’m not sure I like the punchline, because in the joke, he says, “I guess I read for a lot of reasons and the main one is so I don’t end up being a fuckin’ waffle waitress”.
The guy who approached me is still waiting patiently, and I don’t know how to answer him. Eventually I say, “I’m here alone, and it’s a good fucking book. Why not?” He nods, unconvinced by my answer. I reassure him that I’m not reading while there are bands on stage. I can tell he still doesn’t get it, but he leaves me to it.
Maybe I wouldn’t have been the oddball if I’d been reading the book on my phone. Or scrolling. But hey, I don’t want to be judgmental about people who pass the time scrolling.
Here I will segue into a couple of things. One, I want to talk about the moment Bristol is having in terms of its incredible indie bookshop scene. And two, I have some recommendations for you, dear Cable chums.
When I moved to Bristol in 2011, there were a couple of Waterstones, Foyles had just opened (as of this week, sadly closed), and that was about it. But in recent years, the independent bookshop scene has blossomed. We’ve got Gloucester Road Books, serving up awesome curated translated fiction, non-fiction, fiction and kids’ stuff. We have Storysmith Books in Southville, doing the same. Max Minervas in Henleaze has a great children’s section. Small City Bookshop in Redfield has shelves curated by local authors. There’s The Haunted Bookshop on Stokes Croft, East Bristol Books in Old Market, and Heron in Clifton. All of them do heaps of events.
I also want to highlight Bookhaus in Wapping Wharf. It’s a radical bookshop covering a bit of everything: politics, kids’ stories, fiction and translated fiction, small presses and more. But it gets its reputation from highlighting Bristol’s history of radical thinking and doing, so the politics, pamphlets and magazines sections are all brilliantly curated. I mention it because the owners are retiring and its manager, (nepo-friend-alert, a good pal) Darran is crowdfunding to keep the doors open by buying the bookshop.
So next time you’re at a place alone and you want to read, buy a book from one of these places. Let’s see more oddballs reading in public! And next time someone asks you, “Why are you reading?” Just reply, “Cos it’s a fucking good book”.
Nikesh’s autumn reading list
Year Of The Rat
by Harry Shukman
HOPE not hate’s lead investigator spends a year undercover in different far-right movements to learn how they operate. It reads like a thriller and I learned so much about my enemy from it.
Small Boat
by Vincent Delacroix (translated by Helen Stephenson)
A short novel fictionalising the real-life tragedy of a small boat that capsized in the channel in November 2021. It tries to get into the mind of one of the French authorities’ employees who answered a distress call, and in the end, it becomes a book about humans, not stats or numbers or slogans. It’s devastating.
Saraswati
by Gurnaik Johal
A polyphonic novel about contemporary India and the intersection of far-right politics and religion, all told through a rotating cast of characters, a magic river and marriage that reverberates through generations. It’s a sumptuous, sweeping read.
We Are Not Numbers – The Voice Of Gaza’s Youth
by Ahmed Alnaouq and Pam Bailey
A vital, visceral and heartbreaking collections of stories by the youth of Gaza, exploring their everyday lives before October 2023. It tells us about the hopes, dreams, realities, and despairs of young people deserve so much better.
Archive of Unknown Universes
by Ruben Reyes Jr.
To those of you who were interested at that gig, this is about so many things, from the impact of the revolution in El Salvador to the generations now trawling through uncertain, unwritten and undocumented histories to find the people behind the stories. It’s a curious blend of grounded sci-fi and social history.
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