My professional life revolves around reading and writing books. But for years, I carried a little secret: I didn’t read much for fun or pleasure.
This wasn’t always the case. As a teen I devoured books, and my library card was my most prized possession. In college, I passed the slow hours of my part-time job at a hotel gift shop lost in works of magical realism — where ghosts lingered, kitchen spices conjured heartbreak and love defied the laws of nature.
But somewhere between graduate school and professional academic life, books became objects to analyze, critique or assign. After I spent my days deciphering dense academic jargon and grading student papers, the last thing I wanted was to crack open a book at night. Slowly, without realizing, I traded reading for binge-watching Netflix and doom-scrolling social media.
But after November’s election, the doom-scrolling that once numbed me only fueled my anxiety. I needed an escape from the barrage of dread. In a bid to improve my sleep and reduce the time I spent staring at my phone, I bought an e-reader. At first, I loaded it with books I thought I should read — prizewinners, critical darlings. But that just felt like homework. Soon, I was back to social media.
Then, late one night, the algorithm led me to a whimsical and hilariously dramatic corner of TikTok known as BookTok, where people gush about novels that supposedly altered their brain chemistry, or that they wish they could inject directly into their veins.
The algorithm caught on, and soon my feed was full of people speaking passionately about the thrill of a good story — reading on lunch breaks, or in moments where the joy of reading overpowers exhaustion. Of course, the algorithm also recognized my personal usage, filling my feed with queer and BIPOC creators and providing a different picture than someone else might get.
Among my favorite creators is a queer bookworm who begins each video with a joyful “Divassss!” before breaking down the latest novel he read as if he’s serving hot gossip over brunch. He persuaded me to read a surreal book about a self-obsessed actress with plot twists that I still don’t understand but will likely never forget. I also began following a wholesome couple who post about their favorite reads like they’re exchanging love letters, marveling at the emotional ride each book takes them on.
In the aftermath of an election that left so many of us feeling powerless and adrift, the simple act of reading fiction — and finding community among fellow readers — offers more than comfort. To read for joy, for wonder, for emotional truth is to hold onto something deeply human. And in a moment when the stories we’re allowed to tell and read are increasingly politicized, if not outright banned, that act feels quietly radical. In this context, reading for pleasure becomes more than self-care — it becomes a form of defiance, a way to reconnect with imagination, emotion and the fragile work of hope.
I began my BookTok reading journey with a fantasy novel about a woman cursed with immortality. I downloaded it on a whim after a young Black content creator raved about it as a book she’d recommend to anyone. Her love for it was so palpable, I couldn’t resist. And sure enough, I was sobbing through the final chapters. It wasn’t a perfect novel — as someone who thinks critically about race I couldn’t help wince at a historical novel that unfolds across centuries without a single mention of slavery, colonialism or racism — still, it cracked something open in me. Escapism, it turns out, isn’t always avoidance. Sometimes it’s a way back to yourself.
In the past five months I’ve read more novels than in the previous five years combined. I’ve gotten lost in tales of time travel, dystopian pandemics, sentient sex robots and men mutating into sharks. Some were profound, others absurd. But all stayed with me in unexpected ways.
According to the American Library Association, book bans hit record highs in 2024. Just this month, the Court of Appeals for the Fifth Circuit ruled that public library collections constitute government speech, and are thus not protected by the First Amendment. Across the country, school boards and state legislatures are pulling titles from shelves that feature trans and queer characters, grapple with climate change, engage with Black history or simply profile figures like the baseball legend Roberto Clemente and the Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor.
As politicians work to erase these stories from classrooms and libraries, young people are seeking them out, turning to books for what they can’t find on the news: nuance, empathy and the space to imagine a different world. We should all double down on reading for pleasure, and to feed our imaginations.
Writers of color have rightly called out the lack of diversity on BookTok. A preliminary 2024 study found that while female creators and authors are well represented on the platform, the most-discussed books still skew white and heterosexual, with authors of color and L.G.B.T.Q.+ voices trailing behind. Yet, that imbalance reflects the publishing industry as a whole.
In any case, many creators are actively working to shift the tide, challenging themselves and their followers to read more broadly and explore unfamiliar genres and perspectives. They also make space for playful, deeply nerdy debates about the act of reading itself. Does listening to audiobooks count as reading? (BookTok remains divided.) When you read, do you see vivid movie-like scenes in your mind or just the words on the page? (For me, it’s a fuzzy film with indistinct faces.) Are all good books literary works of art?
Some critics dismiss BookTok as shallow or consumeristic. But the critiques miss the point. At a time when creative arts are under attack, when libraries face cuts and outright purges, BookTok creators are encouraging people to read. Not for grades or prestige, but to find joy and sanctuary in deeply troubling times.
Thanks to a BookTok tutorial, I learned how to connect my library account to my device, allowing me to replace the infinite scroll with what the infinite read. In a political moment defined by scarcity — of empathy, of imagination, of hope — it has given me a new feeling of abundance.
So if you’re spiraling, as I was, open a book. Download a novel. Listen to a voice that’s not your own. Get lost in an absurdist plot. Not because it’s noble or productive or good for you, but because it’s fun. And if it happens to alter your brain chemistry? Even better.
Yarimar Bonilla, a professor at Princeton University’s Effron Center for the Study of America, is the author of “Non-Sovereign Futures: French Caribbean Politics in the Wake of Disenchantment” and an editor of “Aftershocks of Disaster: Puerto Rico Before and After the Storm.”
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