The Beauty and Terror of Reading: Bibliophobia by Sarah Chihaya

 Bibliophobia by Sarah Chihaya

Bibliophobia book cover

Author Sarah Chihaya

Chihaya's "Life Ruiner" book- Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye

Thank you Random House and Netgalley for allowing me to read an advanced copy of Sarah Chihaya’s Bibliophobia. When I received the invitation to read this book, I wasn’t sure what to think. The title intrigued me, and when I read the description from the invitation, it described the book as brave and daring. This book most certainly is, and although it is listed as a memoir, Chihaya’s book transcends this kind of classification. It is also a collection of essays focused on books, reading, writing, and criticism, and Chihaya uses her own experiences in reading to question and explore why we read (or at least why she reads). I also appreciated the kind of philosophical approach to reading and literature that Chihaya explores in this book as well. However, as a memoir, the book is centered around her emotional breakdown and her battle with debilitating depression. Trigger warnings abound as the Chihaya recounts in great detail suicide attempts, starting at an early age, self-harm, and the kind of paralyzing depression that eventually led to her breakdown. I found myself wincing at some parts—wondering how she was able to recall these feelings or the description of the hospital that she ended up in after her breakdown. Although this might not be appropriate for some readers, I felt like it was important to confront these moments and emotions as a way to explore them and see how we can learn to live with them. Chihaya does not delude herself in thinking that her depression will ever go away—more like it will be in remission. However, what sets her book apart from other books and memoirs about mental illness and depression is how books factor into her struggles with depression. This was a unique perspective, and I loved how she explored the various roles that books have played in her life. In fact, upon starting the book, you’ll see a list of works (both books and films) that she refers to throughout her book. I loved seeing this list at the outset, wondering which ones I’ve read, adding some to my to read list.

Her book starts out with her breakdown, and I was really surprised with her level of recall and detail on being in the hospital. Beyond the descriptions of the floors and ceilings, she seems to capture feelings and what she did, especially how she tried to persuade staff to let her out early. I was also surprised at the kind of humor she had about her breakdown “One thing I was pretty sure about ‘nervous breakdown’ was that it was not for people like me. Nervous breakdown was not for the children of immigrants. It  was something that happened to white people in independent films or in middlebrow realist novels. Breakdown was what happened when their gorgeous shell became so brittle and delicate they could be shattered with the slightest tap of the back of a spoon-- Tenderly set and ready to ooze out of their gelid whites with a hot, vividly compelling, golden violence.” It seems like this kind of experience is never something we expect or anticipate, or that we fail to really notice the problem, which is why I think Chihaya book is so important. As a successful scholar, she seemed like she had her life together, and even though someone might display outward signs of success, there may be underlying feelings and emotions that they might not know how to address or share with others. Her book and experiences are an important reminder about being empathetic towards others, as well as taking a look at our own experiences.

I loved reading about her experiences with books throughout her life, and how they served many different functions throughout her life. It seems like she started with a sense of bibliophilia, that eventually brought about bibliophobia. Reading her early literacy experiences and reflections on reading made me think about my own reasons for reading and some of the books, especially from school, that were memorable. Books have always been important in my life, and I can’t really remember a time when I wasn’t reading. Even when I was younger, my parents would leave me in the library to just read and explore. As Chihaya notes, “Reading was escapism of a kind, but not in the conventional sense. It was a way to get far away from my life, and to feel—not better, but simply different.” Although Chihaya stresses the problems with trying to identify with books and writers, that was definitely a reason for my reading, especially in middle school. As a “husky” kid, books were a way for me to escape bullying. For me, there was definitely a way to feel better. I also think that when I started reading Stephen King books, his world just really appealed to me. I didn’t realize it until later on, but I loved these stories where the world was wrong, something was not right, and many times in his books, the kids were the ones who were struggling to make sense of the evil in the world and trying to battle evil to bring a sense of order back to the world. I think when I was in college and picked up a Stephen King book after not reading one for a while, it made sense that this kind of story arc, where evil is has a kind of explanation helped me better make sense of the problems I faced. But Chihaya’s experience with books changed when she read Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye, which she describes as a completely terrifying book, yet one that she couldn’t escape. She refers to it as a “life ruiner”. I didn’t read this until later, when I was teaching, but I also remember being devasted by the book. Beloved is the book that always shakes me, and when I would teach it, it was such a wrenching experience. I was usually the only white person in the room, and trying to answer students’ questions about what was happening to Sethe, Denver, and Paul D. was always difficult. Although I do think that Morrison’s writing is filled with emotion, both dark and hopeful, I like to think of how Sethe reminds Paul D. that thin love ain’t no love at all. Love is thick, and part of that love is the kind of re-memory that Chihaya’s book engages in. 

 Each chapter focuses on different texts and her experiences with reading them at various points in her life. Again, I loved how Chihaya thinks about the process of reading in different ways. One of my favorite quotes was when she explains how she wants to reconceptualize reading  “I want to think of reading not as productivity but as a kind of produce: something that grows in whatever unpredictable way it will, sometimes smooth and beautiful  and delicious, sometimes bitter and gnarled and thorny.” She goes on to explain that this kind of produce can be both nutritious and poisonous, and that sometimes it might nourish us, but other times can send us down the wrong path. “You may have bibliophobia if you frequently experience intense reactions to books that somehow act on you, or activate you, in ways that you suspect are unhealthy or hurtful—or at times, simply bad for you. And yet, they are necessary; you would not be you without them.” I can definitely relate to this, and I think that, for me, this feeling started in college, reading books like Crime and Punishment and Madame Bovary. Probably one of the first “life ruiners” for me was Yerzy Kozinsky’s The Painted Bird, which I read in my first ever college semester. It utterly devasted me with its brutality, and I struggled to recognize that this was a book that took place in the 20^th century. While I’ve scaled back on some of these strong reactions to books, I still do experience an emotional reaction to some books, and I agree that I wouldn’t be me without these books and experiences.

Beyond books, Chihaya discusses her family, and in particular the challenges of navigating the kind of high demand and high expectations of her father. As a child of immigrants who was often one of the only people of color in her classes, she often encountered racism and bullying, and her father’s constant stress on performance created a kind of tension and anxiety in Chihaya that eventually results in her first suicide attempt and self-harm. These are some of the most harrowing passages in the book. I’m usually not squeamish, but just her writing about how the self-harm brought relief, and a dream that reoccurring dream she experienced at the time, were graphic and a little hard to take at times. Nevertheless, it is a powerful and brave section of the book. Just be warned. Another chapter, towards the end, talks about Yiyun Li’s Dear Friend, from My Life I write to you in Your Life, which I have not read yet. Li is another writer who I have strong emotions from, ever since reading The Vagrants. It’s really weird because I was recently thinking about the experience of reading that book in a warm park in the spring, and yet the book took me to this brutal winter village in China. It was a book that I felt strongly about—I wouldn’t say I loved it, although I couldn’t put it down; rather, it moved me and took me somewhere new. Dear Friend is a book I’ve avoided since it talks about suicide and depression, and about Li’s own struggles with them. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for it, but I did read Where Reasons End, and it was another devastating book. I’m pushing down tears as I write about it. For Chihaya, Li’s writing presents suicide in a stark, unfiltered light, where it is plainly discussed, which is not often the case. This was another reason why I think Bibliophobia is important because Chihaya raises awareness of mental illness, depression, and suicide, and in her writing, destigmatizes it. She doesn’t really talk about this, but I think her experiences and candor in sharing them make readers recognize that these are a part of many people’s lives, and often shape their decisions and behavior, whether they are aware of it or not. Bibliophobia fosters a further understanding of these emotions, but also presents how books both help and harm them in different ways.

While this was not always an easy read (i.e. it’s not a life ruiner), Chihaya’s candor and honesty are challenging at times. I appreciated it, but I don’t think that everyone will. Like in the first chapter, Chihaya also brings occasional humor in recalling her experiences, now recognizing the obvious signs of depression. It lightens the mood for an important subject. What was also great to see is how Chiahya’s friends and colleagues supported her throughout her career, hospitalization, and recovery. It was beautiful to see that she has that kind of support—people reaching out to check in on her and make pledges with her. Bibliophobia is an important book that challenges many of our assumptions about reading, writing and creativity, books, and depression. It also made me reflect on my own experiences of reading and writing, not only what I read, but also why I read. I really enjoyed this aspect of the book. However, like all bibliophobics, I’ve added to my ever-expanding “to be read” list—something that keeps me going.