A Reflection on Summer Reading

Forgotten Country. Some people loved it. Some people hated it. Some people didn’t even read it.

My first reaction, even before opening the book, was excitement. The back cover told me that it was about Korean-American immigrants, people I identify with. Just from those blurbs, I knew that the book would have mythical elements: tastes of superstition, storytelling, and folklore. I was going to enjoy the book.

I read the book in the middle of the summer, on a trip with limited access to cellular data. Only when I had run out of Netflix shows on the plane did I reach into my carry-on and pull out Forgotten Country. It is completely possible that the last time I had opened a physical book outside of schoolwork was the summer of 2017, reading The Book of Unknown Americans.

I blazed through the 290 pages of guilt, broken family relationships, and the emotionally stunted protagonist — pages of vivid storytelling and countless metaphors of social ills. Not unlike last year’s summer reading, Forgotten Country presented themes of nationality in an increasingly international world, family and the responsibilities that come with being part of one, and racial discrimination in America. By the last page, I had no idea if I liked the book or not.

I like summer reading — that is, the concept of it. Even if I don’t necessarily like the book, I still like the idea of summer reading. Everyone knows the familiar feeling of leaving school for three months, relieved to not be doing homework anymore, then returning in the fall unable to function academically. For me, having to read one or two books over the summer keeps my brain alive enough that I don’t have to worry so much about readjusting once September comes around. Plus, I like that all students read the same book — doing so allows us to compare our experiences with it. Regardless of my feelings on the summer reading book, it goes without saying that summer reading itself is valuable.

I think that a reader only likes a book as much as she or he can connect emotionally with it. Content, style, and structure all play a role in that. Some thought that Forgotten Country’s continual shifts of tense prevented that connection. For others, the content was confusing, alienating, or hard to relate to. With the diversity of experience on this campus, it isn’t a surprise that the summer-reading book resonates strongly with some students, while others don’t relate to it at all.

However, relating or not relating to the book says less about the book and more about the reader. If we all read books only about things we could relate to, it would be difficult to empathize with those unlike us. If we read books only about things we know about, we would never learn anything new. Books are not a replacement for real-life experience. Instead, they prepare us for the world, where we are bound to encounter the unfamiliar.

I urge you: look past your initial reaction to the summer reading. Consider why you reacted the way you did. Consider the author’s choice in giving the story to you the way she did. Consider the decision to give us this specific book to read. Consider how your friend, or your friend’s friend, or the stranger that sits on the other side of the dining hall would react to it — and why. We are an interconnected patchwork of experiences here at Choate, and our differences — even reactions to the summer reading — are just as important as the similarities, and they are worthy of the same inspection.