Cómo hablar de los libros que no se han leído

Por Pierre Bayard

Quienes acudan a este libro para encandilar a nuestros profesores, amigos o amantes con disquisiciones librescas adquiridas sin esfuerzo, habrán cometido un error: el ensayo de Bayard es en realidad una estimulante reflexión a propósito de qué significa la lectura. Para resolver ese enigma, se impone como tarea desenmascarar uno de los tabúes sociales más extendidos: el hecho de que en algún momento de nuestras vidas todos hayamos fingido haber leído un libro que nunca fue abierto. El autor no sólo asume con naturalidad nuestra sempiterna condición de no-lectores (por mucho que seamos devoradores de libros, el número de lecturas pendientes siempre será mayor), sino que convierte esa en apariencia vergonzante no-lectura en el núcleo mismo de la lectura y, mediante un bucle paradójico, no duda en invocar las intuiciones contenidas en libros de Musil, Wilde, Valéry, Montaigne o Lodge acerca de la fecundidad del olvido, la inconveniencia de la lectura o la capacidad creadora del lector (o no-lector).  «Irónico y brillante hasta el delirio» (A. Jiménez Morato, El Duende). «El trabajo de Bayard es una alegre invitación a conocernos a nosotros mismos y a superar el miedo a la cultura» (C. Rodríguez Braun, Expansión). «Su lectura es tan sustanciosa como amena» (S. Aizarna, El Diario Vasco).

• Idioma: Español
• Editorial: Editorial Anagrama
• Fecha de lanzamiento: 12 jul 2023
• ISBN: 9788433920003

Pierre Bayard

Pierre Bayard (1954), profesor de literatura francesa en la Universidad de París VIII y psicoanalista, es uno de los ensayistas más notables del panorama intelectual francés. Cómo hablar de los libros que no se han leído ha supuesto su consagración internacional. Su siguiente libro, El caso del perro de los Baskerville, aparecerá también en esta colección.

Vista previa del libro

Índice

PORTADA

LISTA DE ABREVIATURAS

PRÓLOGO

MANERAS DE NO LEER

I. LOS LIBROS QUE NO SE CONOCEN

II. LOS LIBROS QUE SE HAN HOJEADO

III. LOS LIBROS DE LOS QUE SE HA OÍDO

IV. LOS LIBROS QUE SE HAN OLVIDADO

SITUACIONES DE DISCURSO

I. EN LA VIDA MUNDANA

II. FRENTE A UN PROFESOR

III. ANTE EL ESCRITOR

IV. CON EL SER AMADO

CONDUCTAS QUE CONVIENE ADOPTAR

I. NO TENER VERGÜENZA

II. IMPONER NUESTRAS IDEAS

III. INVENTAR LOS LIBROS

IV. HABLAR DE UNO MISMO

EPÍLOGO

NOTAS

Créditos

Jamás leo los libros que debo criticar, para no sufrir su influencia.

OSCAR WILDE

LISTA DE ABREVIATURAS

op. cit.: obra citada

ibid.: ibídem

LD: libro desconocido

LH: libro hojeado

LE: libro evocado

LO: libro olvidado

++: opinión muy positiva

+: opinión positiva

–: opinión negativa

– –: opinión muy negativa

PRÓLOGO

Nací en un entorno en que se leía poco, no aprecio en modo alguno esa actividad y, de cualquier forma, tampoco dispongo de tiempo para consagrarme a ella. Sin embargo, a causa de esos cúmulos de circunstancias a los que la vida nos tiene acostumbrados, con frecuencia me he encontrado en situaciones delicadas en las que me he visto apremiado a pronunciarme a propósito de libros que no he leído.

Dado que imparto clases de literatura en la universidad, me es imposible escapar a la obligación de comentar libros que la mayoría de las veces ni siquiera he abierto. Es verdad que ése es también el caso de gran parte de los estudiantes que me escuchan, pero bastaría con que uno solo de ellos hubiera tenido la ocasión de leer el libro del que hablo para que mi curso se viera afectado por ello y estuviera expuesto en todo momento a padecer una situación embarazosa.

Por si fuera poco, soy requerido regularmente a dar cuenta de publicaciones en el contexto de mis libros y de mis artículos que, en lo esencial, se ocupan de los libros de otros. Ejercicio éste aún más complicado ya que, al contrario de mis intervenciones orales, que pueden dar lugar a impresiones sin consecuencias, los comentarios escritos dejan huellas y pueden ser verificados.

Debido a esas circunstancias que se han convertido en familiares para mí, tengo la sensación de encontrarme en una situación óptima si no para procurar una verdadera enseñanza, al menos para comunicar una experiencia en profundidad como no-lector y emprender una reflexión sobre ese tema tabú; reflexión que a menudo resulta imposible debido a la gran cantidad de prohibiciones que ésta debe superar.

La aceptación de comunicar mi experiencia no está exenta de cierto riesgo, y no es extraño que los textos que alaban los méritos de la no-lectura sean tan escasos. Ésta se enfrenta a toda una serie de coacciones interiorizadas que prohíben abordar la cuestión de frente, tal y como yo intentaré hacer aquí. Al menos tres de ellas resultan determinantes.

La primera de esas coacciones podría ser denominada la obligación de leer. Vivimos aún en una sociedad, en vías de extinción bien es cierto, en que la lectura sigue siendo el objeto de una forma de sacralización. Esa sacralización apunta de manera privilegiada hacia cierto número de textos canónicos –la lista varía en función del entorno– que está prácticamente vedado no haber leído, so pena de ser desacreditado.

La segunda coacción, próxima a la primera aunque diferente, podría ser denominada la obligación de leerlo todo. Si ya está mal visto no leer, casi igual de mal visto está leer rápido u hojear un libro; y, sobre todo, decirlo. Así, será prácticamente impensable para estudiantes universitarios de letras reconocer –a pesar de que sea el caso en su mayoría– que no han hecho más que hojear la obra de Proust sin leerla en su integridad.

La tercera coacción concierne al discurso sustentado acerca de los libros. Un postulado implícito de nuestra cultura consiste en considerar que es necesario haber leído un libro para hablar de él con algo de precisión. Sin embargo, desde mi experiencia, creo que resulta perfectamente posible mantener una conversación apasionante a propósito de un libro que no se ha leído, incluso, y quizás de manera especial, con alguien que tampoco lo ha leído.

Es más, tal y como se demostrará a lo largo de este ensayo, a veces, para hablar con rigor de un libro, es deseable no haberlo leído del todo, e incluso no haberlo abierto nunca. No dejaré de insistir sobre los riesgos, subestimados con frecuencia, asociados a la lectura para todo aquel que desea hablar de un libro o, mejor aún, dar cuenta de él.

Ese sistema coactivo de obligaciones y de prohibiciones tiene como consecuencia haber suscitado una hipocresía generalizada sobre los libros efectivamente leídos. Conozco pocos aspectos de la vida privada, con excepción de aquellos que se refieren al dinero y a la sexualidad, en que sea tan difícil obtener informaciones irrecusables como el de los libros.

En el contexto de los especialistas, debido a la triple coacción que acabo de señalar, la mentira es general, pues es proporcional a la importancia que en él ocupa el libro. Aunque he leído poco conozco lo suficiente ciertos libros –pienso de nuevo en Proust– como para poder evaluar, en las conversaciones con mis colegas, si dicen la verdad o no cuando hablan de ellos, así como para saber que rara vez se da el caso.

Mentiras a los demás pero también, y sin duda en primer lugar, mentiras a uno mismo, pues a veces resulta difícil reconocer que no se ha leído tal libro que, sin embargo, es considerado esencial en el entorno que se frecuenta. Nuestra capacidad para reconstruir el pasado es lo bastante grande, en ese terreno y en tantos otros, como para modelarlo conforme a nuestros anhelos.

Esa mentira general que se instaura a partir del momento en que hablamos de libros encarna la otra faceta del tabú que pesa sobre la no-lectura y de la maraña de angustias, sin duda originadas en nuestra infancia, que subyacen en ella. Resulta de todo punto imposible albergar la esperanza de salir indemne de esa clase de situación sin analizar la culpabilidad inconsciente que suscita la confesión de no haber leído ciertos libros; aliviarla es lo que este ensayo se propone hacer, al menos parcialmente.

Reflexionar acerca de los libros no leídos y de los discursos a los que éstos dan lugar es una tarea tanto más difícil por cuanto la propia noción de no-lectura no está clara y, en consecuencia, resulta complicado saber si se miente o no cuando se afirma haber leído un libro. Esa noción implica estar en disposición de establecer una separación nítida entre leer y no leer, cuando en realidad hallamos entre ambas una gran cantidad de formas intermedias.

Entre un libro leído con diligencia y un libro que nunca se ha tenido entre las manos y del que ni siquiera se ha oído hablar jamás, existen múltiples grados que resulta conveniente examinar con esmero. Es importante prestar atención, en el caso de los libros supuestamente leídos, a qué se entiende exactamente por lectura, pues ésta puede remitir de hecho a prácticas muy diferentes. A la inversa, muchos libros aparentemente no leídos no dejan de producir efectos sensibles en nosotros gracias a los ecos que de ellos nos llegan.

Semejante incertidumbre a propósito del límite entre lectura y no-lectura me obligará a reflexionar, de manera más general, acerca de nuestro modo de relacionarnos con los libros. Mi investigación no se limitará, pues, a poner a punto técnicas que permitan escapar a situaciones de comunicación comprometidas, sino que intentará al mismo tiempo, por medio del análisis de esas situaciones, elaborar una verdadera teoría de la lectura, atenta a todo lo que en ella –carencias, lagunas, aproximaciones– revela, al contrario de la imagen ideal que se procura con frecuencia, de una forma de discontinuidad.

Estas pocas observaciones nos conducen lógicamente al meollo de este ensayo. Comenzaré por detallar en una primera parte los principales tipos de no-lectura, que no se reducen al mero hecho de conservar el libro cerrado. Los libros que se han hojeado, aquellos de los que se ha oído hablar, aquellos que se han olvidado, pertenecen también, en grados diversos, a esa categoría fecunda de la no-lectura.

La segunda parte estará consagrada al análisis de las situaciones concretas en las que podemos vernos obligados a hablar de libros que no hemos leído. Aunque no se trata de realizar aquí un estudio exhaustivo de la multitud de casos a los que la vida nos enfrenta en su crueldad, algunos ejemplos significativos –a menudo extraídos de manera encubierta de mi propia experiencia– me permitirán señalar similitudes sobre las que me apoyaré para sostener mis proposiciones.

La tercera parte, la más importante, es la que ha motivado la escritura de este ensayo. Consiste en una serie de consejos sencillos, recopilados a lo largo de toda una vida de no-lector. Dichos consejos pretenden ayudar a quien se enfrenta a ese problema de comunicación a resolverlo lo mejor posible –e incluso a sacar provecho de esa situación–, al tiempo que nos invitan a reflexionar en profundidad sobre la actividad de la lectura.

Pero esas observaciones no conducen únicamente a la estructura de conjunto de este ensayo, incitan también a tener en cuenta la extraña relación con la verdad que suscita el hecho de hablar de los libros y del espacio singular que entonces se fragua. Con el fin de llegar al fondo de las cosas, me parece necesario modificar sensiblemente la propia manera de hablar de los libros y hasta las palabras empleadas para evocarlos.

Fiel a la tesis general de este ensayo, que plantea que la noción de libro leído es ambigua, indicaré en lo sucesivo, en notas y de forma abreviada, para todos los libros que cito o que comento, el grado de conocimiento que personalmente poseo de ellos.¹ Esta serie de indicaciones, que serán explicitadas conforme se vaya avanzando en el ensayo, está destinada a completar las que figuran tradicionalmente a pie de página y por medio de las cuales el autor señala los libros que se supone ha leído (op. cit., ibid., etc.).

Ahora bien, como demostraré partiendo de mi ejemplo personal, a menudo hablamos de libros que conocemos mal, y precisar cada vez lo que de ellos sabemos significa tratar de romper con una representación falsa de la lectura.

Esta primera serie de indicaciones será completada con una segunda cuyo objetivo es expresar la opinión que yo tengo de los libros citados, hayan pasado o no por mis manos.² No hay en efecto ninguna razón, desde el momento en que sostengo la idea de que la valoración de un libro no implica su lectura previa, que me impida ofrecer mi dictamen sobre los que aparecen en el mío, aunque los conozca mal o no haya oído hablar de ellos siquiera.³

Este nuevo sistema de anotaciones –que espero sea adoptado algún día ampliamente– aspira a recordarnos permanentemente que nuestra relación con los libros no es ese proceso continuo y homogéneo que quieren hacernos creer ciertos críticos, ni el lugar de un conocimiento transparente de nosotros mismos, sino, antes bien, un espacio oscuro habitado por fragmentos de recuerdos y cuyo valor, incluido el creativo, se debe a los fantasmas imprecisos que por él circulan.

Maneras de no leer

I. LOS LIBROS QUE NO SE CONOCEN

Donde el lector comprobará que no importa tanto leer tal o cual libro, lo cual constituye una pérdida de tiempo, como tener sobre la totalidad de los libros eso que un personaje de Musil denomina una «visión de conjunto».

Hay más de una manera de no leer, siendo la más radical de ellas no abrir ningún libro. Semejante abstención completa afecta de hecho, para cada lector, por muy asiduo que sea a ese ejercicio, a la casi totalidad de las publicaciones, y a este respecto establece nuestro modo principal de relación con lo escrito. No debemos olvidar que incluso un gran lector sólo accede a una proporción ínfima de los libros existentes. Y, por ende, se encuentra siempre, salvo si decide cesar definitivamente toda conversación y toda escritura, obligado a pronunciarse a propósito de libros que no ha leído.

Si lleváramos esa actitud al extremo, obtendríamos el caso de un no-lector integral, que no abriría nunca ningún libro, pero que no por eso dejaría de conocerlos y de pronunciarse acerca de ellos. Ése es precisamente el caso del bibliotecario de El hombre sin atributos,⁴ personaje secundario de la novela pero esencial para nosotros por la radicalidad de su posición y por la valentía con que la defiende.

La novela de Musil transcurre a comienzos del siglo pasado en un país llamado Kakania, trasposición humorística del imperio austrohúngaro. Un movimiento patriótico, Acción Paralela, ha sido fundado en torno a la idea de aprovechar el próximo aniversario del emperador para festejarlo dignamente convirtiendo esa celebración en un ejemplo redentor para el resto del mundo.

Los responsables de Acción Paralela, que son presentados por Musil como peleles ridículos, persiguen un «pensamiento redentor», que no cesan de evocar en una fraseología tanto más vaga por cuanto no tienen ni la más remota idea de lo que podría ser, ni de la manera en que podría desempeñar, más allá de su país, una función salvadora.

Entre esos responsables de Acción Paralela, uno de los más ridículos es sin duda el general Stumm (en alemán: mudo). Éste se ha comprometido a encontrar antes que el resto ese pensamiento redentor y ofrecérselo a la mujer que ama, Diotima, otra personalidad perteneciente a Acción Paralela:

–¿Te acuerdas –le dijo– cómo se me metió en la cabeza investigar hasta poder rendir a los pies de Diotima la idea redentora que ella busca? Hay, según parece, muchas ideas

Comentarios para Cómo hablar de los libros que no se han leído

[sdramsey-298717 · Calificación: 1 de 5 estrellas]

On the whole, I thought this was a silly book. The author makes many, many pronouncements about reading and non-reading that struck me as...well, silly. At first I thought it was an elaborate joke, but as I read on I realized he was serious. But I read it anyway, so that I wouldn't have to talk about it without having read it. ;)

[k6gst · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

I actually did read this book, which, according to its arguments, probably hinders my ability to think and talk about it usefully. Because it’s not just a how-to on bluffing your way through “awkward literary confrontations”; it’s a philosophical examination of the dangers of reading, and thinking about reading as actually an obstacle to understanding a specific book and books generally.Here’s the nutshell, from the review by Jay McInerney:Bayard’s hero in this enterprise is the librarian in Robert Musil’s Man Without Qualities (a book I seem to recall having read halfway through, and Bayard claims to have skimmed), custodian of millions of volumes in the country of Kakania. He explains to a general seeking cultural literacy his own scheme for mastery of this vast, nearly infinite realm: “If you want to know how I know about every book here, I can tell you! Because I never read any of them.” If he were to get caught up in the particulars of a few books, the librarian implies, he would lose sight of the bigger picture, which is the relation of the books to one another—the system we call cultural literacy, which forms our collective library. “As cultivated people know,” Bayard tells us, “culture is above all a matter of orientation. Being cultivated is a matter of not having read any book in particular, but of being able to find your bearings within books as a system, which requires you to know that they form a system and to be able to locate each element in relation to the others.”(There is a better review, by Hilary Mantel. She’s somewhat skeptical.)Moreover, reading any particular book actually means unjustifiably privileging it in a way that can hinder your understanding of the whole of books. In the end you’d be more cultivated if you only read this newsletter and no actual books.He also introduces and hilariously deploys a useful notation system describing every possible relationship with a book:UB (book unknown to me)SB (book I have skimmed)HB (book I have heard about)FB (book I have forgotten)This notation is followed by one or two pluses or minuses:++ (extremely positive opinion)+ (positive opinion)- (negative opinion)-- (extremely negative opinion)For instance, at the mention of his own book Who Killed Roger Ackroyd? he gives it an FB+.It’s very French in a jokey-philosophical way. Funny, smart, and, to the extent he might be on to something, unsettling.

[jasoncomely-1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

How to Talk About Books You Haven't Read discusses the "risks" of reading, as well as unreading, not-reading, forgetting what we read and so on. Bayard writes that at the same time we pick up and read a book, we also involuntarily not pick up and not read all the other books in the universe.

It's paradoxical, clever and occasionally humorous, but I also found it a bit dull.

[jakebornheimer · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

A lot of interesting things to say about how each reader constructs their own unique representation of the book they read (even if cognitive science could have also told us this - much easier too). But, it's unfortunate that the former points had to eventually tie into the 'clickbait'ish title. Obviously a title is meant to sell books, but it is definitely sad when they hold the actual content of the book back. At any rate, I wouldn't have read this if I didn't find it for $1. It seemed like the argument was going an interesting way, but ended with a limp anti-intellectual angle: that one shouldn't read books too deeply for fear of getting too 'far from yourself', i.e., don't challenge your internal way of being, don't challenge your thought patterns, prejudices, opinions. Needless to say, these are the things that make reading (or non-reading) both important and meaningful. I should have expected no less, if I had read on the jacket that the author was also a psychoanalyst.

[alexrichman_1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Full disclosure: I did actually read this. Doing so is, of course, wholly unnecessary and this book makes a great gift, or coffee table talking point, neither of which require you to crack it open. The writing can be rather dense, and the central thesis is clearly total bollocks, but as an inveterate bullshitter myself I have to appreciate the advice. I shall continue to go on the attack and make bold pronouncements about books (and, indeed, most things) without ever worrying about whether they’re ‘true’.

[dellawanna · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

Bayard, a college professor, has spoken about ‒ and even taught ‒ books he hasn't read, an apparently common practice in academia.He dedicates a chapter to four forms of non-reading: never opening, skimming, hearing about and forgetting books. "We must not forget that even a prodigious reader never has access to more than an infinitesimal fraction of the books that exist," Bayard wrote. "As a result, unless he abstains definitively from all conversation and all writing, he will find himself forever obliged to express his thoughts on books he hasn't read."The book reminded me of all the ways in which we talk about technology without directly experiencing it. Indeed, there is no way to directly experience all the moving parts around us, so we organize them into conceptual frameworks in much the same way a librarian would catalog a vast supply of books.

[tchelyzt-1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Have you ever felt culturally inferior when conversation turns to literature and you haven’t read or can’t remember the books being discussed? Maybe you’ve heard of them but fear that offering an opinion will be found out as unsubstantiated by direct reading experience. This amusing book will help you to see it in a new light.I picked up this hardback book (new) for €6. The gems you find at market stalls! This is one for book lovers. It tells us why we do’t need to read books … indeed we are better off not reading them … but even as we nod and agree with the arguments, it reminds us of why we’ll continue to go on reading. Although his message is serious, his tone is light and mocking.Bayard divides our knowledge of books into unknown, skimmed, heard of and forgotten. None actually qualify as read. Since we can’t read more than an infinitesimally small fraction of the world library, we are all effectively non-readers and even the most erudite among us spend most of their time bluffing about what they have read. In those small number of cases where we have actually turned the pages of the book, we have forgotten so much and overlaid the rest with so much personal interpretation that we are essentially bluffing still. This is what he says:“Being cultivated is a matter not of having read any book in particular, but of being able to find your bearings within books as a system, which requires you to know that they form a system and to be able to locate each element in relation to the others … The distinction between the content of a book and its location [in the system] is fundamental, for it is this that allows those unintimidated by culture to speak without trouble on any subject.”In the first part of the book, he discusses how we (don’t) read. He provides advice from Robert Musil on why to avoid reading at all costs … to avoid favouring one book over another; from Paul Valéry on how to criticise after merely skimming a book (not to mention the subtle art of doling out faint praise); from Umberto Eco on how to deduce content without reading the book (with an amusing aside on how the accumulation of error points to truth); and from Montaigne on why our memory of books we think we read is suspect in the least. On memory, he concludes:“Indeed, if after being read a book immediately begins to disappear from consciousness, to the point where it becomes impossible to remember whether we have read it, the very notion of reading loses its relevance, since any book, read or unread, will end up the equivalent of any other … As agonizing as it may be, Montaigne’s experience may nonetheless have the salutary effect of reassuring those to whom cultural efficiency seems unattainable.”He goes on to describe literary confrontations, those occasions when we find ourselves called on to defend our reputation as cultured people.

[tjsjohanna_1 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

I thought some of this book was funny as in absurd - the idea that you can know a book better if you don't read it, for instance. I also thought the idea of understanding how a book fits into the culture was an interesting thing. But ultimately, I'm a reader and I'm not interested in talking about books I haven't read!

[cookierooks · Calificación: 1 de 5 estrellas]

Based on the back cover and reviews, I expected this book to be a fun romp through lit crit, with witty and pertinent remarks about all the works Bayard's book promises are discussed inside. My expectation was that the title was a wink and a nod covering up the real truth - that you *should read these works and others. Maybe there was a subtext I missed here, but this book was painful to read. By the third chapter I was reading while hearing, "blah, blah blah" in my head. By the fourth chapter I was actually saying, "Blah blah who cares?" out loud. Bayard is apparently attempting to construct a Bloom like argument, but instead of Bloom's Anatomy of Influence, Bayard substitutes a pseudoFreudian idea of a "cultural library" we all possess, intersected with a "internal library" belonging to the individual. In other words, we can all talk about books we haven't read because culture provides us with a framework. Additionally, because we all have this internal library, the act of reading itself is pointless if it doesn't fit our intersections. Or something. To be honest, by that point I wasn't really listening. I just wanted the book to get better. It didn't. Bloom can be tedious and see meaning where there is none, but at least his arguments can be followed. Bayard, not so much. Bayard is some type of psychoanalyst, and based on this book I'd say in the Freudian style. Which? In my humble opinion is a bunch of sexually repressed old men who try to insert their penis obsessions where they don't belong. Bayard sees symbols where there are none. In addition, he teaches in Paris. Were I to find myself in his class, I think I would drop out of college and spork myself in the eye. Save yourself, don't read this book. I gave it one star only because GoodReads won't let me review without rating.

[cheryl_in_cc_nv · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

Ok, the whole time I was reading this I was thinking about this review. That says something right there - I didn't find the book engaging.

Now I'm done, and although I thought of lots of stuff I could say, I haven't thought of hardly anything I want to say. That says something else, I believe - that I don't find the book substantial enough to be worthy of writing a lot about.

Sure, the author makes some good points about inner books and collective libraries. (etc.) The fact is true that we each bring ourselves into a book and therefore what we get out of it isn't going to be the same as what anyone else gets out of it. And the fact is true that any book does belong in a collective library of allusions, references, influences; it doesn't stand alone, and an understanding of the rest of the author's works, the books the author was influenced by, (etc.) does bear on the interpretation a reader (or non-reader) creates. (etc.)

And it's true that one can get a sense of a book from the collective library, from knowledge of reader's reactions (etc.). And one can discuss a book one hasn't read by discussing all that peripheral stuff.

But I wish the author had stuck to a discussion of all that. Instead he spends much of the book discussing why one would actively choose not to read a book, even though one knows one will be called upon to discuss it. And that just doesn't make sense to me.* For example, if, as he says, every professor is expected to write a book, and every colleague is expected to be able to claim to have read every book by all other professors, and all those folks know that there's no bloody way they can indeed keep up with each others' output - it's a mess - and the solution is not, imo, to bluff, as Bayard suggests. The solution is deeper reform of the expectations.

I just say - if you like to read, read. If you like to show off how erudite you are, when you're really not, you've got worse problems than can be solved by this boring tripe.

*It doesn't make sense to those who set up the goodreads' review guidelines, either, in that these reviews we write are supposed to be about the book. Not about other books, not about the author, but about the book being reviewed. Just saying.

[sparemethecensor · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

Tedious. Ponderous. Some interesting topics around inner libraries that are buried under other philosophical nonsense.

[henrique.maia · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

Is there really a book we have read? How so, if we immediately start forgetting when we read it?
Is there a difference between a book we have not read and a book we have forgot?

These are no triffle questions; for this book is not to be taken lightly. This is not a self-help book.This is a treatise on literature, on culture as a whole.

If you want to take part of the universal library of mankind, if you want to make whatever niche culture your own, you have to understand books on a deeper level.

And, as the author proposes, you can only achieve this by not reading books.

Start doing this on this one. Read it; or, better still: do not read it. Make it part of yourself. This is an excellent way to [re]start the journey.

[abigailadams26 · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

It is clear to me, after reading Pierre Bayard's treatise on the art of "non-reading," that my circle of friends and acquaintances, which I had until now considered to be fairly literate, must surely be lacking the elevated cultural sensibility that seems to pertain in Parisian academia. I freely confess it: there are any number of towering works of genius, pillars of the literary canon, which I have never so much as cracked. But despite the complete candor with which I discuss the subject, I cannot recall the last time someone greeted my non-reading of a text with shock or ridicule. I must either present an astonishingly formidable visage to the world, or have been extremely lucky. Of course, anyone so unwise as to express such sentiments to me would be met with astonished pity, as it is my firm conviction that too inflexible an investment in any given canon is a sign, not of high cultural achievement, but of intellectual error.Now perhaps Professor Bayard's tome simply didn't sit well with my own "inner book," but I found myself continuously irritated by his efforts to assuage insecurities I do not feel. His assumption that the social dynamic he has observed in some of his own circles is somehow universal, and his insistence upon reducing every interaction to some sort of psychological power-play, while perhaps unsurprising in a psychoanalyst, did little to endear him to me. My reading experience was not enhanced, moreover, by the author’s prose, which some have found witty, but which struck me as insufferably self-congratulatory - every point presented as if it were some breathtakingly original discovery.That said, I find myself in agreement with the basic premise of the book, which is that the activities of "non-reading;" which Bayard expansively defines to include skimming, reading & forgetting (un-reading), and "hearing of" books; are all perfectly legitimate ways of interacting with a text, and more than sufficient for intelligent discussion. His ideas about the three kinds of library - the collective, inner, and virtual - and the ways in which they converge, and at times come into conflict, are intriguing. I am also in agreement with the idea that any given text must not be treated as some sort of isolated document, but part of a larger cultural whole, in which we must strive to locate it.In short: what can be understood of this book is not be quarreled with, and therein lies its second weakness. Although Bayard manages to express himself quite clearly when summarizing his major points, the great bulk of his work - when not given over to literary quotations - is a confusing morass of self-contradiction and "cultured" cynicism. Perhaps I am too eager to take a page out of the professor's book, but it strikes me that he is the one crippled by fear. Almost from the opening of the book I was struck by the author's assumption that "mastery" of the whole (as in, overall cultural literacy) is the only possible goal of reading, and social interaction its only meaningful arena. The enrichment of the inner self, the transformative potential of new ideas or viewpoints, the restorative power of beauty, the strengthening (or weakening) nature of truth, are all subordinate here to the value books have for us as cultural commodities. Here everything is directed outward, as if we were nothing but social actors. A man, confronted with the vast storehouse of human knowledge, itself only an infinitesimal fraction of what can be known, acknowledges that he will never be able to absorb it all. But perhaps, he tells himself, he can see the "whole picture," he can understand the "totality" of it. Or is it all just a clever game he has made up, so as to avoid facing his human limitations and imperfections, his smallness? How original... a man rebels against his mortality...

[la.grisette · Calificación: 1 de 5 estrellas]

What I managed to glean painfully through the smoke-and-mirrors:

Bayard's thesis is that it is immaterial to one's cultural literacy (an object he never establishes the supremacy of over, say, literacy) to have actually read every, or even one, book in our "collective library" (a term he unnecessarily substitutes for Western literary canon). His supporting arguments, consisting of how we relate to books and how we use books to relate to each other, are occasionally interesting but never convincing. He actually confuses his own newly minted terms, using "inner-book" (there are also "collective books" and "inner-libraries") to refer alternately to one's personal interpretation of a book (which, in case you were just about getting a grip on things, may also be called the "screen book") or an ill-defined miasma of abstract preconceptions that will color our interpretation of the book a priori. (Oh, and don't think one can disregard the auxiliary influence of the "collective inner-book.")

His main argument is that our concept of reading is essentially a wrong one - that the intellect does not deepen or expand when confronted with the products of great minds, but by its own pig-headed, self-preservative nature can only wholly reject (through mis- or disremembrance) new ideas, or else transmute them into our old preconceptions, like a poor translation.

At one point, Bayard cites himself (or, rather, one of his own essays "Enquete sur Hamlet: Le dialogue de sourds," or "Enquiry into Hamlet: The Dialogue of the Deaf" to support this proposition. (Here, I have to pause to explain a system of notation Bayard invented to categorize all the books he cites: Unknown Book is UB, Skimmed Book is SB, Heard-of Book is HB, and Forgotten Book is FB. Then there are pluses and minuses [as in "double ungood!"] to indicate his opinion of said UB or HB. Don't try to tease any underlying logic out of this arbitrary taxonomy.) He cites his own essay as "FB-," which I suppose is supposed to convey a certain self-deprecatory playfulness which, since Socrates first used it to encourage mental rigor in his pupils, has been appropriated by all manner of pseudo-intellectuals to excuse their own mental laziness. ("No one's taking me seriously, are they?") And in this instance it's even worse, because the mask of self-deprecation is meant to hide how self-referential and without substance his arguments are.

I agree with Bayard so far as he posits we interact with books on a deeply individual, and sometimes cognitively flawed level. Also, that there are simply too many books, good books even, to ever hope to read even the bulk of... But I do not agree with his conclusion that we must therefore abandon any value-judgments, which he proposing we do both on the level of individual books and by considering others' opinions of those books equally with the books themselves.

...One can see where this philosophy must be of great personal significance to you, Mr. Bayard, otherwise you'd have to actually read great and important books instead of diluting their number with trash like How to Talk... - and if your disposition renders such self-control and humility impossible (which I suspect it does), you can always abdicate your position as a literary intellectual entirely, and openly pursue a career selling snake-oil door-to-door.

[john_pappas_35 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

{ How to talk about books you haven't read: Book I have listened to - positive opinion; }

[laura400 · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Absolutely excellent. Funny, sly, thought-provoking. It's about reading, not reading, excess creation, impossibility and possibility. It's very French, very intelligent, very wonderful.

[markfinl · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

The author freely admits that as a college professor he spends most of his time talking about books he hasn't read. According to his thesis, everyone who discusses books talks about books they haven't read, and that's OK. The acting of reading one book means that there are other books you are not reading. And anyway, you could never read even a tiny fraction of what is available (a depressing thought to me). Bayard argues that the important is to know about books and to know about books' place in the grand pantheon of literature.

[jpurcell10 · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

Witty, highly readable and so very true. Though, one wonders about the value of reading a book that asserts that the actual act of reading is not necessary and largely a regretable distraction!

[generalkala · Calificación: 2 de 5 estrellas]

This book actually really offended me. I picked it up because reviews commented on how witty and inventive it was, and so I was expecting a humourous manual on how to babble about Jane Austen or Herman Melville.Not so. Instead I got a boring, repetetive book that took itself way too seriously. Bayard states over and over again how people that skim books actually end up more knowledgeable than those that sit and read them and everybody who has ever read a classic is lying. It is more important, apparently, to know where a book sits on the intellectual shelf of life than to actually read it.He implies that all readers are pretentious and only read in order to make themselves look intelligent. God forbid we actually enjoy reading.He barely mentions the well-known classics such as Jane Eyre or Moby Dick, even though they do feature on the cover. Instead he quotes huge excerpts from stranger works that I'd never heard of that last for pages and pages and often have very little relevance except to pad out his book.I did enjoy the concept of 'true books' and 'shelf books' - that every book is different for every person. So that copy of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe exists as a 'shelf book' but the way you remember it and the influences your imagination had is the 'true book.'I'm sure Mr. Bayard would state that I just don't 'get it' but as he's a Literature Professor that proudly states he hasn't read a book in years, I don't think his opinion would count for much.

[debnance_1 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

Catchy title. Was it a parody? Was the author writing in earnest? I heard an interview with the author on NPR and realized there might be more to this book than I’d initially thought. Bayard defines “books you haven’t read” broadly, including the obvious “books never opened”, but adding “books skimmed”, “books you’ve heard about but that you’ve never read”, and “books you’ve read but that you’ve forgotten.” Whew! That doesn’t leave much to put into the book log for the year, does it? How many books, read cover to cover, remain vivid in one’s mind, long after the book has been returned to the shelf?I took away from this book what I found to be Bayard’s main thought: Don’t let anything stop you from talking about books. Reading, he says, is imperfect. A reader won’t take away from a book the same things another reader will nor the same things the author might have hoped his readers would take away from the book. It is okay, Bayard assures us, to skim books. It is okay to misunderstand books. It is okay to forget books. But, Bayard continues, don’t let any of these things stop you from reading books, from talking about books, from writing about books, from thinking about books.But, then again, I may have misunderstood the whole thing.

[meditationesmartini · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Thank you, Pierre Bayard, for saying what we're all thinking. Bayard is being cute with his winking title, as well as setting his sights squarely upon the mass market, but he touches on some highly legitimate critical issues--no, you know, more than that, there's the material her for not only a real critical exegesis, but a social manifesto of reading.

Basically, the concept is, we privilege, aspire to, cover up the absence of, the read text--the object in isolation, read cover to cover, understood and digested--and only then contextualized. The notion of text as discernable cultural artifact, as existing outside the reader, the utility of authorial intent, all these trad-crit shibboleths, he wads up and sets afire with fun cod-Derrideanism, and good on him.

But the book's real revolutionary impact, or rather the revolutionary idea to which Bayard refuses to give full weight and a serious treatment, is simply: the more you care about literature, the less you should read. Or formulated less absurdly: reading is subject to the law of diminishing returns. Become familiar with a book, by all means; as concept, narrative, cultural moment. Read it, if you can spare the time, or just go on cultural osmosis and Baz Luhrmann's movie. But really: every moment spent puzzling through Ulysses is a moment that could be spent discussing Ulysses, or putting it in context, and the difference between a casual skim (ultimately, the aforesaid manifesto is one of skimming) and a deep semesterlong exegesis of Ulysses is the time that could be spent reading through, well, the complete works of James Joyce extra-Ulysses, or . . . you know, other shit. Is the real reader a fox or a hedgehog? Cearly a fox--one who wants to read and feel and be as many things as possible.

[rachelick · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

A French professor of literature, Bayard expounds on his theory, using literary examples, that reading a book is wholly unnecessary to create and participate in dialogue about it. Academic in tone, the book provides a point of view that counters accepted wisdom. Students of literary theory and criticism may choose to argue with Bayard's interpretation of the interaction between book, reader and community, but this is a book worth discussing-- whether you've read it or not.

[theoclarke · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

It is sorely tempting to review an imaginary humourous gift book here; a sort of Bluffers Guide to Reading because Bayard's thesis is that many conversations about books are dialogues of the deaf. He postulates that we operate within three 'libraries': the virtual, the inner, and the collective. The collective is the true intersection of the inner libraries of the participants in a discussion whereas the virtual is the stated or implied intersection. Furthermore, the contents of our inner library is a fluid mixture of fluid constructs. Our memories and perceptions of each book are in constant flux. This has a profound effect on our attitude to reading and to the discussion of books.All of this is explored in a series of essays in which a specific book about books is both the subject and object. Eco's post-modern Name of the Rose is likely to be widely familar to an anglophone reader but most of the references are to French works. Bayard is so punctilious about his descriptions of each work that the reader need feel no discomfort at any ignorance even though, by his own account, the author is as unreliable as any narrator.I picked this up intending to give it a quick skim but I found myself devouring every word. And in so doing I undermine part of Bayard's structure: He has no abbreviation for close reading; the best that I can offer is HB and SB++.

[campingmomma · Calificación: 1 de 5 estrellas]

The best part of this book was the cover. It was an quick read, but apparently I do not share the humor or supposed wittiness of the author. The only chapter I gleaned anything from was iii; Books You Have Heard Of which discussed Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose. I had actual heard of this book and so it was interesting, easy to relate to and not above me. I felt like the reason I didn't get this book was because the author was French and so his frame of reference was way different than mine.

[jonathon3hodge · Calificación: 4 de 5 estrellas]

Great discussion of the place titles hold in the social/cultural landscape and how we orientate ourselves in that space - thus obviating the need to have actually read the titles cover to cover. Wonderful.

[lalalibrarian · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

in the spirit of this book, I didn't read it, I skimmed it. I think I can talk about it with you anyway, though.

[wewerefiction · Calificación: 5 de 5 estrellas]

Everything I read about this book before I read it promised a witty, beautifully styled text that advised the reader on how to, well, talk about books he hasn't read, but also how to deal with social situations in which the reader finds himself having to lead intellectual discussions about a book he hasn't read. The word I latched on to was "witty," thinking this was going to be a serious joke book - extremely hilarious writing about a topic that needs real consideration. Like when humorists write about politics.Instead, I found this to be an STB. No, that doesn't mean "sexual transmitted book." You see, books are mentioned throughout this book, as would make sense; the author gives comments on each book - whether he has not heard of the book (UB - unheard of book), books he has skimmed (SB), books he has heard about (HB), and books he has read but forgotten (FB). He then rates them. Well, I am going to call this an STB (slept-through book) with a rating of ++, which is the highest possible rating. I don't want to imply that the book was boring; it wasn't the book's fault that I read it late into the night after having gotten very little sleep the night before. (Well, I suppose if you really think about it, it is the book's fault for being so interesting that I didn't want to put it down; however, I sort of feel that since the book gives advice on how to talk about books you haven't read, I can rightly talk about this book which I only partially read.)It wasn't witty. Or if it was, I didn't get it. It's French humor, I suppose, and I put that in italics because this book taught me to not be afraid of culture and being open, and perhaps a little bit because that's how everyone refers to the French. In any case, I was initially disappointed by the lack of hilariousness, since that's what I'd expected, but the book wasn't by any means boring. In fact, as I've mentioned, it was quite interesting - so interesting that I hadn't initially planned on writing an entry about it, but now I feel like I must. The book takes the reader through many styles of non-reading, which I found interesting as I'm also finding my way through How to Read A Book by Mortimer J. Adler (FB++). I haven't picked it up since October, when we moved into this apartment and I misplaced it, but the similarities in the way I seem to recall (but have also entirely forgotten) reading styles are described (whether reading or non-reading) is interesting to think about. It's entirely possible, as this book has proven, to talk about books which one hasn't read, or which one has skimmed, or in some cases which one has actually written but forgotten that he's written it (Bayard uses Montaigne (HB+), while I would probably use Süskind's tribute to Montaigne(FB++)). In any case, all examples are taken from books. Either Oscar Wilde has said something in his personal essays (HB++) about avoiding books, or a character in Robert Musil's The Man Without Qualities (HB+) has the opinion that reading a book is not quite as important as understanding a library. It reminded me of writing papers in college, and I suppose this makes perfect sense as it's written by a college professor who probably expects the exact same kind of writing from his students. (The style of, "Let me provide quotes and then reword these quotes into terms that are more easily understood by your tiny brain.") These books: I'm not sure if they're supposed to all be books that everyone is "supposed" to have read. I know that The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco (SB++, because while I just finished it, I only understood about half of it - I may as well have skimmed it) is one of those, and so is Shakespeare's Hamlet (HB-). The other examples used are perhaps socially "required" in France.It's true, I've never read Hamlet. Until now, I never realized how unashamed I am of not having read the "required reading." One of the first thing Bayard suggests is to get rid of that feeling of guilt that you haven't read something everyone else says they have read. I've read Paradise Lost (FB++), but I haven't read The Perks of Being a Wallflower (HB--), which is one of those books that everyone has read but which I feel is highly overrated. Yes! That's right! I'm saying things about books that I haven't read! I also haven't read any of the Oprah books, which in my opinion are all crap, nor have I read William Golding's The Lord of the Flies (HB+), which I regularly recommend to customers at my bookstore who are trying to decide which reading list title to read (nevermind that it's usually the shorter selection). It reminds me of an instance when I worked at a corporate bookstore (if you're unaware, I'm working independent now). Someone had asked if we carried any William Makepeace Thackeray, author of Vanity Fair (HB--). I had never heard of the author. I didn't know what he wrote or who he was or why I should care except to help the customer find his books. I was then insulted, told that I was "wasting my education" as a college student because I wasn't familiar with the author. Since then I've collected several of the author's books but I haven't read any of them. I've now realized that it was out of shame of not having heard of Thackeray that I decided to start collecting his books. I say! I'll not pick up any of his books again, because How to Talk About Books You Haven't Read has made me realize how unnecessary my guilt is, how afraid of culture I was, how utterly terrified I was that someone would think I wasn't "smart enough" or "well-read enough." (Mind you, I enjoy collecting books for other reasons, but when I seek out authors I've never read, it's probably either for this reason or because I want the full collection.)I purchased Robert Musil's The Man Without Qualities several years ago - volumes one and two. It's an incredibly thick book; they both are. I've mused about reading it now and again. I don't remember my original reason for buying it - probably because it has a librarian as a character - but I was surprised to see it used as the first example in this book. I've been using quotes and examples from it which I've found on the Internet probably subconsciously thinking that someone would see that I've used examples from this book and think I was cool enough for their culturally enhanced club. They probably lie about reading Hamlet, too, although I'd like to say that I've never lied about reading Shakespeare. He's too difficult outside of a classroom setting.I've digressed. What this book boils down to is an alternative take on how we read. Its title implies that it's entirely about not reading; indeed, the back cover implies as much also, but what I found I like most about it is that it ends up being about reading style. It wants you to pay more attention to how and what you're reading; it wants you to realize that it doesn't matter if you haven't read something, or even if you have. It really doesn't matter if you have every Shakespeare play memorized, or if you have an Oscar Wilde quote for every occasion. Society presses these "certain books" that we all must have read and frowns upon those who still have them on a "to be read" stack. Is it necessary? According to this book, the purpose of reading is to add to our autobiographies, to create ("To talk about books you haven't read is an authentically creative activity, as worthy - even if it takes place more discreetly - as those that are more socially acknowledged" (182).), to invent, to be open to what the book is or isn't saying. Have you ever heard someone say that they've "absorbed" a book? Think instead that the book has absorbed you, or a little part of you. Instead of leaving itself inside you, you've left a little bit of yourself inside it. Whether you've read it through entirely (and thus given immeasurable amounts of yourself and your time to a block of paper), skimmed it (leaving only traces), or read someone else's review of it and decided that was sufficient (giving the book your thoughts, but not your soul), you're creating something new whenever you encounter a book. It doesn't always end up being the same book.

[flossiet_2 · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

This book is soooooo French... It's an interesting concept, it's reasonably well-written, but I think the arguments are basically flawed. I wanted to disagree violently with and pick apart so much of what he had to say that my copy is festooned with little yellow tags. In the end, M. Bayard isn't interested in talking about books you haven't read so much as embracing the fact that one hasn't read them. Since I intend to read as many books as it is within my physical capacity to manage, this essentially represents a challenge to my personal raison d'etre.I still give it three stars, but recommend you take the author's advice and don't read it :-)

[narwhaltortellini · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

Ok, so shoot me. I read the book description, I read the humorous chapter premises, and perhaps unfoundedly, decided I knew exactly what I was going to get from this book. I thought I was going to get a humorous devaluing of reading, and in particular of the "great works of literature," grounded in all the taboo truths about reading many teachers and well-read individuals would not like to admit, while at the same time as it points out the fact that with the way some read, they may as well not read books, that the solution isn't actually not reading but reading in a different, more aware way. A humorous encouragement to trully understand and enjoy the books you read.So for those of you who think like me, fair warning: That's not really what this book is like. It really is discussing, sometimes humorously, how useless it can be to read books. Also, humor wasn't as prevalent as I thought it was going to be, and the expected underlying message that the reason it's useless to read books is because many aren't reading them "right" (understanding them properly, learning from them, enjoying them, whatever you like ^_^), the subtle tongue-in-cheek encouragement to NOT not actually cease reading but to read differently...didn't seem to be there.I'll admit to you right now I only got half way through, so maybe the book did turn that way eventually and I didn't get there. Still, as I past that half way mark and still wasn't sensing any change, and as I was forced to go through more repetitive musings on not reading, I just gave up. There's also the distinct possibility that there was humor and subtle pro-reading messages that were just flying over my head. Still, I find it mostly repetitive and unsatisfying. Nonetheless, I've still got to give it some points for bringing up some interesting points, even if it didn't go the direction I wanted to hear about.

[brewergirl · Calificación: 3 de 5 estrellas]

I haven't made up my mind yet whether I liked this book. I admit that, in listening to the audiobook, I occasionally found my attention drifting and losing the track of the book. But then I found that it didn't really matter. While the author's points are thought-provoking and humorous, they are also repetitive. I found, too, that he spoke more about the ways that we find ourselves discussing books we haven't read (or have read but forgotten) rather than how to actually do it. One definite drawback ... My already lengthy "to be read" list got a bit longer after reading this book because the author describes several books that sounded very interesting (some that I had heard about, some that were unknown to me) .