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Yearly Reading Resolution
For the 10th consecutive year, I’m resolving to read more books. I envision 2026 filled with peaceful evenings spent on the couch, getting lost in the numerous novels that fill my living-room shelves, maybe with a glass of scotch by my side. I delight in this fantasy—imagining finally diving into A Confederacy of Dunces, completing the last two books of the Broken Earth trilogy, or finally enjoying the Patti Smith memoir I purchased over a decade ago. If I’m really ambitious, I think about tackling Tolstoy or Pynchon, not to mention that copy of The Pale King that has been collecting dust on my coffee table.
Anticipated Outcome
However, I already know how this story ends. By year’s end, my Goodreads shelves will hardly reflect my lofty reading aspirations. If you ask why I never read as much as I intend, I’d point to modern distractions—excessive screen time, engaging algorithms, and dwindling attention spans. Yet, the root of my struggle with literature feels more mundane—and likely more prevalent than anyone wants to acknowledge. Why is it that I can never find comfort while reading a book, no matter how hard I try?
Universal Struggle
You know exactly what I mean—it’s a common dilemma. The first known novel is The Tale of Genji, crafted in the late 11th century by Japanese noblewoman Murasaki Shikibu. A thousand years later, humanity still hasn’t managed to devise a comfortable method for reading. Like many, I’ve laid back with a book until my arms tire and I can no longer keep the position. I’ve also tried relaxing in an armchair, only to find that the angle makes staring down at the pages uncomfortable. Of course, lying on my stomach sounds appealing for a moment, but soon enough, I find myself in a tiresome plank pose while Raskolnikov is busy with his axe on the page below.
Searching for Comfort
I constantly shift positions, hoping to unlock the joy of reading. When I asked friends for their experiences, I soon realized we all share this frustrating quest. Slate’s associate editor, Bryan Lowder, recounted propping himself up with pillows while reading a cumbersome hardcover. My friend Laura Grasso, a costume designer who recently finished The Brothers Karamazov, has devised a method of aligning herself on the slope of a couch armrest, balancing the book at eye level. Some, like Slate senior editor Tony Ho Tran, even embrace discomfort as integral to focusing on literature, preferring uncomfortable chairs that keep them alert.
The Physical Toll
It shouldn’t have to be this way, should it? Have we really not evolved to have better support for reading? Can it be that even Moses experienced neck pain deciphering the Ten Commandments? According to Ryan Steiner, a physical therapist at the Cleveland Clinic, yes—reading forces the body into an unnatural position. The reality is that humans are not designed to remain in one posture, even a comfortable one, for prolonged periods, and we frequently need to change our position while reading.
Technological Solutions
Fortunately, technology is addressing the reading discomfort. We’ve all encountered bookstands that allow us to enjoy our hands-free while sipping a drink and losing ourselves in a story. Some readers have even taken it a step further; Chelsea Stone from CNN shared her experience with a device that holds her e-reader in place, allowing her to read without physical strain. She can turn pages using a Bluetooth remote while snuggled under covers, effectively eliminating discomfort while enjoying her literature.
