Books, in ways that are different to visual art, to music, to radio, to love even, force us to walk through anotherâs thoughts, one word at a time, over hours and days. We share our minds for that time with the writerâs. There is a slowness, a forced reflection required by the medium that is unique. Books recreate someone elseâs thoughts inside our own minds, and maybe it is this one-to-one mapping of someone elseâs words, on their own, without external stimuli, that give books their power. Books force us to let someone elseâs thoughts inhabit our minds completely. Books are not just transferrers of knowledge and emotion, but a special kind of tool that flattens one self into another, that enable the trying-on of foreign ideas and emotions.
Why canât we read anymore? â Medium (via infoneer-pulse)











