It’s difficult to not suffer from information overload at the moment. It feels like every single thought I have about anything at all — let’s say, how to repair a clogged sink — has a YouTube video, a TikTok, a Substack, a number of readable articles found via Google, and now ChatGPT’s chirpy answers. And then there are also the ads that will linger like a bad smell, reminding you that you did, in fact, search for how to fix a clogged sink. This has been the state of affairs for some time, but for whatever reason right now I feel like my computer has turned into some sort of infinite scroll machine.

Basically, it’s all becoming a bit much. 

I recently came across a writer who I follow on Substack claiming to have, at last count, ‘about 543 subscriptions on Substack’, and I couldn’t honestly work out if that was an exaggeration. The mere thought of attempting to write the sort of content that could break though the noise of an inbox with 500 newsletters fighting for attention causes beads of anxiety-sweat to form on my forehead. (To say nothing of being on the receiving end of so many emails …)

With so much noise in my media world, I began to wonder if there was something out there that could help me organise this chaos. Maybe it could be something curated by an expert, and with perhaps only the most relevant and best-written information? It also would be nice if it was portable and didn’t need a charger. 

Oh wait … 

Yes, it is exactly what you’re thinking: a good, old-fashioned book. As analog as a metal filing cabinet, and possibly as clunky. 

The reason I’ve been thinking about the book in the Age of the Content Creator is that part of the job of being a writer is to live in perpetual self-doubt. Such introspection used to be limited to concerns like whether my actual writing was any good, or what my next book idea might be. It’s an unfortunate sign of the times that I have spent the past few years questioning the book as a form at all (should I be doing podcasts? TikToks?). Is the book — or should it be — consigned to that sooty old dustbin of history, destined to be replaced by electronic and more interactive, entertaining forms?

I exaggerate, but only a bit. 

I understand that all of these things can co-exist, and mercifully, the printed book remains in relatively healthy form. However, for those of us in non-fiction, the outlook is a little less rosy, as people claim to have fatigue with reality — who can blame them? — and want escapist Romantasy. That being said, there is a serious place for serious books, and given the current spate of book-banning, it seems like non-fiction isn’t entirely off the social radar and is, indeed, doing its job, for now.

But can non-fiction books really compete where the internet provides a non-stop scroll of content on any topic out there, especially now that this can be ramped up by AI? At various points in the past couple of years I might have conceded a sad ‘no’. But I’m now saying a more confident ‘yes’ for a very simple reason: someone needs to have taste. And those of us who have dedicated years to certain topics are just the people to take the reader by the hand, enter the media maze, and drop like breadcrumbs a trail of books that will lead them safely through. 

An audience member at a recent event asked me how to find out more about the stories in my own book, as well as other histories kept outside of a wider mainstream public. The answer is simple: in books, in libraries. That is somewhat misleading, however. There are fabulous riches to be had — the fruits of decades of research, but they are often tucked away in the stacks of a university library and difficult for members of the public to access. Public libraries are wonderful, but they don’t always carry more niche or academic titles. Finding ways to solve these sorts of problems is something I would rather do, instead of worrying that machine-generated copy is going to put me out of work.  

These are the sorts of thoughts swilling around my mind as of late, so decided to revisit my current book-session, Amusing Ourselves to Death by Neil Postman. How I wish he had lived long enough to see what social media wrought. ‘Truth,’ he wrote ‘like time itself, is a product of a conversation man has with himself about and through the techniques of communication he has invented.’ For quite a few centuries now, that technique has involved print and reading, but for how much longer? 

This is not meant to be a broadside against the rapidly changing technology and media landscape, but perhaps a gentle reminder — to myself as much to you — of the importance of physical books and reading. As Postman describes it: 

‘To engage the written word means to follow a line of thought, which requires considerable powers of classifying, inference-making and reasoning. It means to uncover lies, confusions, and overgeneralizations, to detect abuses of logic and common sense. It also means to weigh ideas, to compare and contrast assertions, to connect one generalization to another.’ 

I would add that reading allows people to hear the workings of their own mind. Books allow us to dwell in our own thoughts, free of the sort of visual stimulation that television and screens activate, which affect different areas of our brains (there is a reason social media algorithms are known as the ‘rage machine’). Newspapers and magazines used to provide this, to a degree, as well, but their dwindling circulation in print and their need for clicks and ads online have pushed them toward being part of the problem.

 There are no ads in books. No pop-ups. Nothing that flashes or beeps or that will start in 5 seconds. 

Books are places to let our brains have a big exhale and sit quietly with a story or an idea. They provide a conversation with the past and the future. Perhaps, and most importantly for me these days, books are an organising principle in a chaotic and disorderly world.

It might sound the very definition of obvious for a writer to spend a whole newsletter pointing out the importance of books, but at a moment when the children of highly literate people are failing to read full books perhaps it is on writers’ heads to remind all readers that books can set boundaries, which, perhaps paradoxically, allows us all to think a little more freely.  

We may be walking in the valley of the shadow of the death of the book, but there will something on the other side. I suspect (hope) there will be a U-turn at some point in the road, where people realise that the one thing in this world of endless information that has a limit … is a book. You start it. You read it. You finish it. Just the fact of its limits will ultimately give it its value. Yes, there is a lot of attention on the proliferation of Substacks, Tik-Toks, and so forth — by all means, have 500 newsletters flood your inbox each week — but when you want to escape the deluge, the steadfast, sturdy book will be there, waiting for you. 

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What I’m … reading 

I was inspired by a recent trip to Singapore to race through Kevin Kwan’s trilogy, Crazy Rich Asians, China Rich Girlfriend, and Rich People Problems. I saw the film of Crazy Rich Asians years ago and enjoyed it very much, but the books are even more fun. The film is not better or worse than the books, it is simply a different product, which required tweaking and compressing certain storylines and characters. The space of a trilogy allows them all to come to life. The books are full of high society and biting satire, with lots of improbable plot twists and impossible levels of snobbery. It is a rollicking read and one that makes me a tiny bit jealous because it must have been a lot of fun to write. Perhaps, more importantly, it brought an entire world to the attention of readers who may not have been familiar with Singapore, with all of its excesses and many charms. 

I’ve also started the 1978 novel The Singapore Grip by JG Farrell, which is a much darker take on Singapore life some half century before the wealth of the Crazy Rich Asians period. Singapore, then a British colony, faced its own share of hardships during the Second World War, not least an occupation by the Japanese. This book is also a satire, but a dark one. Its focus is not of the people who lived in the Singapore, rather the British who tried to rule them. Given that it’s also a critique of colonialism, it’s not quite the breezy read like the Kwan trilogy, so I’m making my way through this one a bit more slowly, with multiple stops to look up various historical events and people. (I really can’t stay away from history for very long, can I?)

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Now, having said all of that about books, I’m going to shamelessly self-promote some podcasts and interviews I’ve done recently, for your viewing/listening pleasure, with more coming soon:

• An in-depth discussion with Amanda Brickell Bellows on Book Breaks with the Gilder Lehrman Institute of American History.

• A great conversation with Philip McKenzie on his The Deep Dive podcast. Listen on Spotify or Apple.

• A wide-ranging interview with Tyrel Cameron Eskelson on his Interlocutor Podcast.

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If you liked this essay, leave a comment. Or buy me a drink! Or treat yourself to one of my books!