Reading often has side effects

Any reader can list the many important benefits of reading: a broader perspective, wider general knowledge, improved critical thinking, larger vocabulary, and, of course, enjoyment. But heavy readers, committed readers—addicted readers—can also list the adverse effects of reading.

A few of reading’s adverse effects are nearly inconsequential: a messy house, unwashed laundry, and a lack of sleep. Other side effects can be emotionally devastating.

For instance, the book hangover can leave its victims like zombies: the body functions, but the mind is absent. Well, not absent; just not present in the real world. A book hangover happens when a reader finishes reading a book but cannot let go of the story. The reader walks around, going through the motions of life, but her mind is still in the story.

Fantasy, science fiction, gothic tales, and period novels are the genres that most often produce a hangover, especially if the book is particularly long. I experienced one of my earliest book hangovers after I finished “The Mists of Avalon” by Marion Zimmer Bradley, a monumental retelling of the King Arthur legend from the perspectives of Morgan Le Fay and Guenevere. At nearly 1000 pages, and filled with love, magic, betrayal, and death, Bradley’s book easily takes possession of the reader.

I was only casually interested in the Arthur legend before reading “Mists.” Afterward, I was obsessed. I couldn’t let go of the story, so I sought it in other books, primarily “Le Morte d’Arthur” by Thomas Mallory and “The History of the Kings of Britain” by Geoffrey of Monmouth. I must have been desperate, because neither Mallory nor Monmouth would be considered “gifted writers” by any estimation.

Luckily, when I was teaching high school sophomores, the curriculum included a unit on the Arthur tales. There were three heavily edited tales included in the textbook. Fortunately, I had a wealth of materials, and enthusiasm, to supplement with. You can imagine my students’ reaction to my attempts to imbue my Arthur passion in them. I can still hear the eyes rolling.

A more debilitating side effect of reading is story grief. The greater the quality of the book, the greater the risk of grief once the reader is finished. Book grief is an overwhelming sadness and sense of loss after finishing a particularly powerful story. Sure, you can reread the book, and a second, or third or fourth, reading can give the reader greater insight into the plot or characters. However, first reading is special, when the reader falls in love with the characters, the setting, the themes, and the events.

Book grief sadness results from believing that you’ve just read the best story in the entire world and will never find another story that you like as well. My most recent experience of book grief was just a few weeks ago when I finished “Miracle at St. Anna” by James McBride.

“Miracle,” based on actual events, is the story of a group of four Buffalo soldiers fighting in Italy in WWII. They get lost in the mountains while trying to avoid the German troops massing not far away and planning a huge assault on the American forces. It’s primarily the story of Sam Train and the small Italian boy he rescues from a fire fight. The characters are earthy and endearing, the dialog is realistic, and the events are heartbreaking. This story, which includes magical elements, is one of both devastating loss and redemption.

A book hangover can be treated by reading more books on the same topic or with the same characters. For instance, after reading “Jane Eyre” many times, and each time feeling hungover, I turned to “The Wide Sargasso Sea” by Jean Rhys, and “Mr. Rochester” by Sarah Shoemaker. “Sargasso” is Bertha’s (the crazy wife in the attic) story, “Mr. Rochester” is Edward’s life story. Both offer new perspectives on the classic tale and allow the reader to ease herself back into the real world.

However, book grief cannot be so easily cured. Like any other kind of grief, the reader must allow herself to grieve. I find it hard to start a new book for several days until the book grief subsides. Moreover, I am wary of what I pick up next. I don’t want to ruin a perfectly good book by comparing it to the impossible standard of the book I am grieving.

So I’ve found it useful to go back to a guilty pleasure, like true crime, Nordic Noir, or sci-fi. Although I enjoy these genres, I don’t have the same expectations of them as I do with literary fiction.

You may have noticed that the cures for both adverse side effects is more reading. Naturally.