What’s in a book? Often, a good friend

When the going gets rough, many of us turn to books. This can be especially true in times of loneliness. It’s a bit of a paradox, acknowledges Emily Anderson, college dean of undergraduate education and professor of English at the USC Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences. Those with a nose in a book often look like they’re all on their lonesome and yet, “you’re with these characters, you’re with the author, you’re in another world,” says Anderson.

The daughter of an English professor, Anderson has spent most of her life engrossed in reading, writing and teaching undergraduates the joy of literature. Her latest book, Shadow Work: Loneliness and the Literary Life, explores the relationship between books and solitude: How can reading both isolate us and bring us closer to others?

Shadow Work arose from her own experiences of isolation, starting with a divorce that left her raising her two sons alone, followed by the COVID-19 pandemic. Without much access to libraries and research materials, she began typing out essays in her makeshift garage office, reflections on a “life lived in books.” It can be rather less lonely than we first realize, as Anderson reveals.

Connection through spoken words

Consider how most of us first encounter a book — with a parent reading us a bedtime story. It’s an experience that’s decidedly companionable. This dynamic often returns in adulthood, with spouses reading to each other from books or magazines. “My dad read me bedtime stories, and he still reads aloud to my mom,” says Anderson.

Reading aloud is not quite the same as audio books either, she adds. With a one-on-one interaction, the listener can request a reminder of a plot point. The reader can insert commentary or make memorable voices. “I just finished reading The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings series to my boys and my Gollum voice is really good,” says Anderson.

It’s a revival of our most ancient way of storytelling, which was deeply communal. Before the written word, stories were transmitted orally. Even with the invention of the printing press, which made books more widely available, most households had just one copy and limited light. Evenings were spent reading aloud to each other.

Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol was deliberately divided up into “staves” designed to fit a night’s communal reading by the fire.

Friends on paper

Books are also where some of us find friends; for those with few companions nearby, fictional characters can offer a pretty close approximation.

The All Creatures Great and Small series by James Herriot is one Anderson might recommend for those feeling lonely. Chronicling the daily life of James Herriot, a country veterinarian in England’s Yorkshire Dales, these books offer something uniquely calming, says Anderson. “He’s way out in the dales, often alone in a car that’s breaking down, surrounded by countryside. And yet, you’re also with these quirky farmers, the animals — you feel this web of connection.”

Join the club

Book clubs are perhaps the most obvious way that reading forges connections. Anderson leads a form of one each fall, in her freshman seminar, “Our Favorite Books” (FSEM 100). Students nominate what the group should read each week, with conversations following.

Everything is material for discussion, even the reading experience itself, she says. “We discuss whether they finished or not, whether they felt shame for not finishing it. How does it feel when you’ve chosen the book versus having a book assigned to you in class?”

The class also highlights the way merely bringing books out in the world these days can create a connection. “There are so many anecdotes in class on how the material object inspires conversations,” Anderson says. “Someone recognizes the cover and says, ‘I remember that book!’”

Anderson herself has had this experience many times. Recently, the students nominated Colleen Hoover’s Layla , which Anderson took along to the veterinarian’s office. The vet tech told her how much she loved Hoover.

A few pages into the book, Anderson realized the material was rather risqué. “Maybe I should have wrapped that one in brown paper,” she muses.