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Reading Difficult Books In A Heatwave
A literary fanatic’s manifesto
I’ve always liked reading — which hopefully isn’t an unusual thing to like around here. (If you haven’t always liked reading, you should probably write an article about it.)
But one of my reading preferences perhaps does set me apart from many other readers, perhaps from most readers: I love reading in hot weather.
Seriously. A few years back, temperatures in my locale hit 40 Celsius.
My first thought (obviously) was: “Wow, it’s hot!”
My second thought was: “Where’s Montaigne?”
The hotter it gets, the more I want to sit with a book. And not light reading either.
Seneca in the blistering summer of 1990 is a fixed memory in my reading life: the Letters open on my lap, the air not moving, a Stoic telling me across nineteen centuries that discomfort is instructive while I sat there being instructed.
It remains one of the most complete reading experiences I’ve ever had. I couldn’t tell you why, except that the heat had something to do with it.
Heat traps
England, of course, does not do heat with any competence. The houses are engineered to trap warmth. Infrastructure surrenders at around 25C. The…
