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 in many ways. Are you searching for the cause? If so, Svenonius has a theory:
The written word is unmatched in transmitting dictums from on high and organizing public opinion. … When a person reads a book or news article, the written word’s command over their consciousness is total.
I can’t prove that he is right, but that’s how it was for me while reading his book: his command over my consciousness was total. Reading is believing.
“I wasn’t asking for the cause of your reaction!” you complain. “I was asking for a reason. Why would Svenonius oppose the written word?”
The answer is obvious:
The primary use of the written word has always been indoctrination. The written word was first introduced into general society with the invention of the Gutenberg press, a device which, for the first time ever, allowed for mass proliferation of literature. Among its earliest uses was dissemination of Martin Luther’s Protestant tracts, with led to the Reformation, the Christian schism, the Thirty Years’ War, the religious wars, and the development of capitalism.
Almost every ill we see in the modern world is the result, direct or indirect, of writing, an invention more atrocious than the atom bomb.
“Hold on,” you sputter, “what about the positive effects of mass literacy, and of capitalism?”
I can only tell you that you would not ask these questions if you read the book. Instead, you’d scan impatiently for answers. How can we bring literacy to an end? Again, it’s obvious:
Rock ’n’ roll has no written language. When it began, in particular, it consisted of gobbledygook: wop bop a loo bop, rama lama ding dong, bebop a lula, etc.; made-up sounds which were a replacement for language; a refutation of “The Word” and its meaning, of coherence, and the constraints and controls of language itself.
But rock ’n’ roll was commercialized and corporatized, made literate and unthreatening. Our hope is for a rock ’n’ roll that is newly old.
As an obsolete, near-forgotten technology … rock ’n’ roll can finally be utilized for its intended purpose, the one for which it was originally feared and loathed: its power to create illiteracy in its followers.
Henceforth, this space will no longer house the written word but the inarticulate screams of my punk-rock garage band, Bartleby and the Scriveners—screams whose command over consciousness is total. The next time you’re incited to read a book, you’ll reply, in a singularly mild, firm voice, “I would prefer not to.”
BONUS CONTENT: No joke, I talked to the amazing Alan Alda about Life is Hard.
Reader's Digest: April 1, 2023
Took me too long to realize this is an April fools joke.