A few weeks ago I went to my first “Silent Reading Party” sponsored by a lovely indie bookstore in my neighborhood, and I felt like I was participating in a quiet revolution.
For several months now, I’ve seen bookstores all over the country– from NYC to LA– offering various spins on the concept of a silent reading party, and I was eager to finally participate in one to see what they are all about.
Silent Reading Parties are exactly what they sound like: a minimally-interactive gathering where people come together and read in a shared space, often with light music and refreshments. The one I attended took place in a swanky-chic hotel outside the city, all dark marble and wood with low-lit valences and scarlet wallpaper.
When I arrived, a man was playing a few gentle, lilting notes on a baby grand piano in one corner of the lounge, while readers sat in clusters around various big and small tables, or individually on couches, armchairs, and single-seat tables that were positioned cozily around the room, harkened to the fact that this space would become a polished cocktail bar after dark. But for now, in the mid-afternoon, it was hosting our weekend reading party.
One wall was comprised of floor-to-ceiling windows, so you could choose a sunny spot near the exterior of the building, or a moodier seat on the opposite wall, which was cast in shadow under the low lights.
It was 2 PM in the afternoon on a sunny Sunday in April, and the silent reading party was taking place from 1:30 to 3:30 PM.
On the far end of the room opposite the piano, there was a bar serving literary-themed cocktails and mocktails (mostly puns off of current book titles that the sponsoring bookstore had curated, for sale, on a table outside the event space). There were also self-serve macarons and cookies set out with on various platters with tongs and napkins. People quietly meandered over to the bar on arrival, ordering drinks in hushed tones and whispering only briefly to the make the exchange. In rare cases, folks would comment on a book someone else was holding if they had intimate knowledge of the work– or, to simple say, as one woman enthused to another: “I loved that book!”
The vibe was very much akin to the silent floor of a college library– not that anyone would hush you, given there was, after all, a soundtrack coming from the in-house piano. But people respectfully kept voices low and unhurried.
After I secured my seat and my (optional) drink (which was included in the price of the ~$30ish dollar admission ticket), the only thing left to do was read the book I brought from home.
Per event instructions, we were to bring or own reading material, or we could purchase one from the table curated by the bookstore, whose attending staff offered suggestions of popular titles without judgement.
Socializing, I should be clear, was totally optional and not really expected. But there was something lovely and comforting about being in a space with people from all walks of life who were doing something so wholesome and simple in each other’s company.
For me, reading for fun in the presence of other people doing the same was like a total nervous system reset, one I appreciated intellectually before going to this event, but didn’t realize how much I needed until after.
A New Kind of Third Space
People, moreover, seem to be starved of this type of third space gathering. At the Silent Reading Party I attended, there were couples, lots of solo individuals of every different race and gender, and tons of people in the mid-20s to mid-40’s range (from the looks of it), which is often the demographic of people who self-identify as “struggling to make friends as an adult”.
This, moreover, was a super simple concept, but one that is perennially fascinating and appealing to me as a young mother/social person who doesn’t like nightlife– and as a book lover.
Reading has never historically been a “social” activity, and in the race to figure out a concurrent social issue, which is: the lack of safe third spaces for people to gather, a need that was highlighted during the pandemic and amidst the loneliness crisis– that gathering with other people is important for our wellbeing. Full stop.
To that end, silent reading parties have emerged as a beautiful and creative option for introverts and even us social folks who are merely interested in gathering in new, enriching ways.
As a mother, I loved the idea of gathering during the day to read– it felt like such a luxury, since reading for me and for most working people is often relegated to nighttime.
But as the sunshine crept across my table and over the pages of my book, I felt myself calm and slowly acquiesce to the quiet in a room full of readers– people who I knew, intuitively, were safe and complex and contemplative.
It soothed my spirit to feel like I was surrounded by good people– even though I had no way to prove they were whatever I would define as “good”, other than the fact that people who read for fun, who would even entertain the idea of going to a silent reading party (let alone paying for a ticket!)– were probably good people. People with complex interior lives whose full worlds I would never know, but who were, nevertheless, prioritizing reading, and whatever journey that offered them.
And even though I interacted with no one other than the bartender– I ordered a floral mocktail and dove swiftly into my book, thank-you-very-much– I still felt calmly attuned to the presence of other people, and that was restorative to me.
This, of course, is the goal of third spaces: to give people a safe place to gather doing wholesome things, which is important for the human spirit, since it gives us the opportunity, without pressure, to feel like part of a community.
In my experience, people enjoy reading, but in modern adult culture there few spaces for it as a dedicated act for which we carve out time. Libraries are abundant, but going there to read during the day seems like a luxury– except, perhaps, when it’s a social experience, in which case people may feel less indulgent making time for it. (And making time for reading is important!)
Ultimately, this and every silent reading party I’ve seen invites the question– Why NOT read?— and it seems, judging by the mounting popularity of these events across the country, that people are happy to give it a shot.
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Related: Why We Need More Collective Effervescence.
Chewy Idea: “People Can’t Read a Room Because They Can’t Read a Book”
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