This seems as good a day as any to announce that I will never read another book.
It’s the result of reading a book, Against the Written Word: Toward a Universal Illiteracy. This book begins with an author’s note absolving the owner of responsibility for its “incendiary and out-of-control content,” a note explaining that the scuffs and creases on the cover are deliberate, a “DISCLAIMER BY BOOK OWNER” with a space to sign and date, and a preface of imaginary blurbs.
Only then does Ian F. Svenonius make his argument, and his promise:
This is the last book you will ever read.
In fact, after this book, you will never feel the need to read anything, ever again.
Chances are, you will dedicate yourself to a new, unlettered life of sublime illiteracy and live out your days as an analphabetic ignoramus.
That, indeed, is now my plan—as soon as I finish writing this.
“But why?” you pester. “Why? You claimed Svenonius had an argument, but all you’ve given us is a promise.”
I respond that “why?” is said i…
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