Notional Reading Plan (XXXVI)

Although originally used to describe the relief some people feel when strolling through cemeteries, as summer approaches, the well-known half-verse "What a peaceful peace!" by A.A. Soares de Passos (1826-1860) also becomes the unofficial motto of classes that publicly recommend reading material to others. The recommenders act under the influence of two stimulants: the satisfaction of having managed to read certain books before summer, and the satisfaction of being able to recommend them to those who haven't. They proclaim that summer is the perfect opportunity for the peaceful peace that reading brings; but deep down, they believe summer is the time to tell others to do their homework—that is, to read what they've already read.

Recommending things is not even remotely objectionable. It constitutes the fundamental activity of literary criticism, as it does of many other tasks that deal with light normative content. There are no divine commandments or human laws that determine which particular books we should read; and there are no serious reading obligations, except in education, where they are temporary and melt like ice cream, precisely with the arrival of summer. The normative content of recommendations therefore depends on the role the issuer plays in our lives, and the trust they deserve. It is usually light not because it is futile but because there are no penalties for those who ignore such recommendations. But it is nevertheless normative, because those who ignore them may feel some penalty.

Since summer is the time of year when we proclaim the tranquil peace that books can bring, it's not entirely clear that reading recommendations are only made in the summer. The summer climate, however, causes even greater perplexity, as books are recommended in the hope that they will increase the fervor of ideas in the minds of those who read them; at the same time, it is hoped that from this fervor may emerge the tranquil peace of the righteous. Consequently, the beaches are filled with perplexed bathers reading War and Peace and Marco Polo's Travels. It's not surprising that, as a species, we enjoy simultaneously longing for great cognitive storms and a good stroll through the cemetery.

An ancient Roman attempted to counter this seemingly intractable disjunction with a classical prescription. What we read, he said, must both serve some useful purpose and bring pleasure to the reader. However, aside from the pleasure we feel from having accomplished useful things (such as the satisfaction we feel from having fulfilled a very arduous duty), almost no one finds any use or pleasure in reading Marco Polo's Travels . The shocks caused by this potential use disturb our walks through cemeteries; and the tranquil peace we feel in these summer cemeteries makes us forget our plans to improve our education.