Book reading by touch
I have found particular pleasure in buying books that I enjoy holding.
The topics, yes, must be of some interest, even if it's just a distant curiosity, but it's nearly as important that they feel good to touch. My favorites tend to be old cloth-bound hardbacks roughly B6 in size--so, small, and a neat fit in the grip of my hand. Something about that configuration feels right. In shops I frequently find my to-buy stack sticks to those dimensions, and if I see a book of almost any subject of those proportions then, yeah, I'll pick it up.
Adding yearned-for touch to the reading experience has also gotten me to read more frequently. It used to be that I would only read when I had a large block of time free from distractions. One of those "when conditions are just right, then I'll break out a book." Now, I'm drawn to pick up my books out of simple animal curiosity. I'll then read a few pages, an entire chapter or essay, simply out of the blue. The first enemy of listlessness is thus defeated--that ennui of not wanting to do a particular thing but not knowing what particular thing I want to do. When that thing is in your hand and delighting at least one sense, the other senses will beg to follow.
It's for this reason that I also keep an ever-there flat stack of active books on the side of my desk. They're from every style and genre I own, and they rotate as frequently as my curiosity does. I can see them when I'm working during the day, and it's comforting knowing they're there, waiting to be read, no updates or reboots or wi-fi passwords in the way.
There's also the constant shuffling around of these books that makes me want to crack them open more frequently. They're on my desk, you see, which is furniture designed for activity. If they were on a shelf, that would be a place of storage or display.
A lot of this book stacking and buying goes against the common modern advice of choosing one or two books and sticking with them to the end. It's also counter to current book designs that are bright and abstract with slick covers that are about as interesting to touch as plastic lawn chairs. That's so gutted of composition and meaning, so boring, pointless, and mechanical.
I don't want to read as if I were a machine. I will read like an ape with a head filled of vital juices set atop ancient bone and blood.