A couple of weeks ago I was in my favorite local independent bookstore when a question occurred to me that I don’t think I’d ever really considered: as I near the end of my life and look back on the books I’ve read, will I be more grateful for the fiction or the nonfiction? I landed on fiction, and that surprised me a little. I try to read about 50 books a year, and plenty of nonfiction has helped me think through things and define my life in meaningful ways. But I think fiction is of more value than a lot of people give it credit for.
In this video I share seven reasons fiction is worth your time. The first is simply enjoyment, and if that’s the only reason you read, it’s reason enough. Beyond that, fiction grows your emotional range and empathy. As Johann Hari writes in Stolen Focus, “The more novels you read, the better you were at reading other people’s emotions.” It builds your attention, because you linger in a scene in a way TV rarely lets you. It reminds you of creativity and beauty. It stirs curiosity. It offers perspective on your own life. And it gives you rest. Years ago, six weeks into a 12-week sabbatical, I was lying on the couch reading a novel, hearing my kids play in the other room and the dishwasher running, and the thought occurred to me: there is nothing else I need to be doing right now. My capacity to sit and stay connected to a fiction book has become almost a benchmark for whether I’m getting enough rest.
So in some ways I’d argue fiction is more beneficial than nonfiction. It’s almost a subversive self-help, where all of these things are working on you even when you don’t realize it. If you want somewhere to start, here are three standouts from the past ten years: The Things We Never Say by Elizabeth Strout, Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry, and Dark Matter by Blake Crouch. The book is better than the show. What’s a fiction book you’d recommend? I’m always looking for the next one.