Do “Heavy” Books Impact Me Emotionally? And How Do I Read So Much?

I get asked two questions about my reading habits with surprising regularity:

1. Does all the tough subject matter I read—particularly nonfiction—ever start to feel too heavy?
2. How do I read so many books?

Let’s discuss.

DOES ALL THE HEAVY SUBJECT MATTER EVER GET TO ME?

First up…

After I posted my August nonfiction reads (which were admittedly a string of very heavy topics including: Jeffery Epstein, mass murder, TWO stories about women in relationships with serial killers, and a global Ponzi scheme that led to a string of suicides; even How to Winter talks about SAD and difficult days, The Irish Goodbye: Micro-Memoirs revolves around the loss of a sibling and parent, and Cleanup on Aisle Five documents the challenges of being an underpaid worker in the retail industry), a lot of people jumped into the comments to highlight the overwhelmingly heavy subject material.

Stephany’s comment sums it up:

Great question!

No. Reading these books does not upend my entire world. Not even a little. (Which sometimes makes me feel guilty to admit.)

I am generally much more emotionally impacted by a sad fictional story than I am by an account of something terrible that actually happened. (That said, I always cry when I re-read When Breath Becomes Air, and I sobbed when I read The Sound of Gravel and The Story of a Heart and A Heart That Works. But I also sobbed while reading Worst Case Scenario by TJ Newman.)

This feels backwards.

One is made up and the other was someone’s ACTUAL LIFE.

And yet…

I’ve read memoirs and nonfiction books about war, abuse, trafficking, addiction, cults, genocide, poverty, illness, family dysfunction, death, and all sorts of other deeply painful subjects.

The content of those books has absolutely stuck with me.

But I don’t usually finish them feeling emotionally flattened or like I need to take a break from reading anything difficult.

In fact, I often feel the opposite!

To me—and maybe I’m an isolated edge case here—there is something incredibly powerful about someone taking a painful experience and putting words around it.

I think there is tremendous value in sharing those stories with the world. I think they can inform and help others, and I feel privileged to read them.

They broaden my understanding of people and places and experiences I will likely (hopefully) never encounter personally.

I do understand that it may be making me a little more cynical and jaded about humanity, but for the most part (maybe oddly?), I think these books often leave me more awed by people than discouraged by them.

Humans are astonishingly resilient!

People survive things that seem unsurvivable. They rebuild lives or find humour in awful situations. They forgive and make sacrifices. Lots of people start over.

I find it endlessly fascinating.

There are often deeper spiritual undertones for me, too. The Bible says there’s nothing new under the sun, and the more nonfiction I read, the more I think about that phrase.

Greed. Pride. Jealousy. Abuse of power. Selfishness. People wandering away from God. NONE of this is new.

And in so many of these books, you can see the consequences of those things playing out.

But you also see a lot of redemption and hope.

So no, for the most part, I don’t find difficult nonfiction depressing.

I tend to find it fascinating and thought-provoking.

That said, I DO find it hard to consume certain fiction:

• Domestic abuse—physical, verbal, psychological (I had to DNF Nesting because the gaslighting was incredibly distressing to me.)
• Abuse of children.
• Death of children. Hamnet was a DNF for me; it was too relentlessly sad and—spoiler alert—HAMNET DIES.

That said, sometimes the uncomfortable books pull me in. I couldn’t put Madwoman down. Or Good People. Or The Push. Or Yesteryear. (All 5-star reads for me that touch on at least one of the no-go topics mentioned above.)

I finished My Friends and Small Things Like These, but found both overwhelmingly sad.

I guess, put another way, I view nonfiction as serving a greater purpose; almost like I’m supporting people’s right to tell their stories by consuming what they’ve written. In fiction, if it bothers me, I view it as supporting myself to stop.

HOW DO YOU READ SO MUCH?

This is the other question I get asked quite frequently.

Alas, there is no secret system.

I don’t wake up at 5 am to read and I don’t (typically) have vast stretches of uninterrupted leisure time during the day.

But there are a few things that make a big difference.

1. I skim.

Some books I read every single word.

I’ve talked before about how I skim, and I have a very specific style of doing it. (I’m not randomly flipping forward 30 pages and hoping for the best; in my books, that’s a DNF.)

But if an author is repeating a point I already understand, or spending two pages describing scenery, I speed up and feel zero guilt about this. I understand this is controversial.

But I’m reading for pleasure and no one is giving me a test afterward!

2. I read quickly.

This is partly genetics, I think. There are other fast readers in my family.

It’s also probably partly personality and preference, too. My brain naturally likes to move through text pretty quickly.

I also think a lot of it comes down to practice.

I have read A LOT over the course of my life. Reading quickly is a skill I’ve honed over decades simply because I’ve spent so many hours doing it.

3. I read predominantly at night.

This is probably the biggest factor.

Unfortunately, it often means I stay up too late. This is a recurring demerit. SIGH.

This is not necessarily a recommendation. But nighttime is when I enjoy reading most.

The house is quiet. Everyone mostly stops needing things from me. I crawl into bed and read. Sometimes for hours.

I. LOVE. IT.

For me, the tradeoff is usually worth it.

I also tend to read more when I’m stressed or overwhelmed. Which is not especially helpful because those are exactly the times when I probably definitely need MORE SLEEP.

So it’s a double-edged sword.

But reading is an enormous source of comfort for me.

If I suddenly have 45 minutes to myself, I am virtually never going to think: You know what sounds good? Watching random videos on my phone.

I want a book!

4. I read in the margins of my day.

Most of my reading happens at night, but I also tuck reading into smaller pockets of time.

If I have to wait for a kid at an extracurricular activity, I bring a book. If I arrive somewhere early, I’ll read.

If I’m waiting at an appointment, I read. (Last week! At the doctor’s office!)

If I take a nap on the weekend, I will almost always read for at least 15-20 minutes. (This is one of my favourite combinations in life. Book + nap = YES PLEASE.)

I’d guess that on an average day, I probably read about 30 minutes before I even get to bedtime. But, overall, nighttime reading does the heavy lifting.

And then each week usually has at least one longer stint of reading possibility during the day: I’m waiting at the mechanics for an hour, so I read. Or the kids are watching a movie on Saturday afternoon, so I go to a cozy corner and read for a few hours.

I think the biggest answer is the most obvious one: I just really, really love to read.

Reading isn’t something I’m trying to force into my life because I think I should be doing it. It’s one of the first things I naturally reach for when I have free time. It’s also one of the activities I default to when I feel stressed or overwhelmed or just need to mentally step away from everything else for a while.

Also, I’m a writer… and I think that the best way to become a better writer is to read what other writer’s have written!!!!

Your turn.

• Do heavy books impact you emotionally?
• When do you do the majority of your reading?
• Any other skimmers/speed readers out there?