Last week, just an hour before leaving my apartment for the airport, I was still frantically packing. It was a short trip with a packed schedule, but it took me about 10 minutes to decide which of the three books I was reading to take with me. I knew it was unlikely that I would have time to flip through more than a few pages, but I never considered not reading at least one book.
Reading has always been such an important part of my life, so what a privilege, even a luxury, it is to not only be able to read, but to have access to so many books across a variety of genres and subjects. It’s easy to forget. When we stop and think about the value of reading, we realize that it may be a luxury we cannot afford to not take advantage of, no matter how busy our lives are. I don’t think you can overestimate the role that reading plays in shaping our lives. This is especially true when the books we read invite us to ponder, alongside the familiar, unknown stories and perspectives that have not yet left room in our imaginations.
I love François Boucher’s 1756 painting of Madame Pompadour, which is housed in the Alte Pinakothek in Munich. The golden curtains appear to be pulled back to reveal Pompadour, the mistress of King Louis XV of France, lounging on a banquette center stage. Her dress is almost a character in itself, seemingly taking over the canvas, yet it doesn’t detract from her figure in any way. Behind her is a gorgeous bookcase filled with shelves. An obedient dog sits at her feet, next to flowers scattered on the floor. A side table is placed in the foreground of the painting, a drawer opens to reveal an inkwell and a quill, and a stack of books spills onto the shelf below. In the center of Madame Pompadour’s body is an open book, which she holds in her hand.
We know that literacy rates increased significantly across Europe in the 18th century, making reading materials more widespread and available to people beyond the clergy and nobility. However, books were still expensive and reading was considered a luxurious pastime even for wealthy women. Furthermore, in France at the time, the state strictly controlled reading materials.
I’m well aware that few of Pompadour’s contemporaries enjoyed books lavishly, but what I like about this picture is that he aspires to reading on a par with fine jewelry and clothing. This is what we consider to be valuable. Pompadour holds her head high as if momentarily reflecting on the contents of the book, and I would like to imagine that she managed to get whatever she wanted to read in her room, regardless of the royal books. censorship.
It is often forgotten that the reason reading was regulated in the past, and still is regulated under some regimes today, is because people understand that books reveal a diverse world. They show us the different ways life can be caged or free. These can provide us with powerful access to knowledge and thereby expand our sense of agency. And when people develop a sense of agency, almost anything seems possible. In addition to pure joy, I have always recognized that access to books is a form of power. Learn how to do new things and approach different seasons and experiences in life. Reading prompts me to reflect on a broader, more intentional way of being in the world.
The 1886 painting Marie-Madeleine in the Desert by 19th century French painter Emmanuel Benner is on display at the Strasbourg Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art. It depicts a naked young woman draped in a blue cloth, engrossed in reading a large, folded manuscript. Although she is alone in a cave-like environment, she does not seem to be afraid of anything. This woman is believed to be Mary Magdalene, known as a devout follower of Jesus of Nazareth through the New Testament Gospel stories. Some believe she was wealthy and financially supported Jesus’ ministry. Others believe she was a woman of ill repute. Regardless of the interpretation, I love the reframing of her here as a woman who is introspective, literate, and seemingly unfazed by the opinions and perspectives of the outside world.
Reading is a very important part of my professional life, and I think about the amount of time I can and do spend on weekend afternoons immersed in a book without thinking about anything else. A book can almost become a place of residence. And this picture suggests to me in some beautiful way that reading can feel like coming home and is deeply nourishing. There’s also the fact that Mary Magdalene is naked, but I see this as a symbol of the exposure and vulnerability that any of us can bring to a text, the sense of openness to learning and listening that fosters dialogue with the author. I decided to assume that there is. Her posture suggests that this exposure is not threatening or dangerous. Rather, when we read with an open mind, we are willingly exposing ourselves to the possibilities we encounter.
I am regularly drawn to the work of contemporary Kenyan artist Wangari Matenge. Her 2021 painting “The Ascendants XIX (Her Things Are Here)” outlines a green table with cosmetics, makeup bags, and flowers arranged on its surface. A woman’s hand with thin fingers is also visible. Stir your coffee with your right hand, hold your book with your left, and your thumb will serve as a place marker.
It seems like a very simple and common sight. But what I really like about this piece is the sense of perspective. Viewed from above, you can get an intimate look into just a small part of this woman’s life. Perhaps we witnessed her getting ready in the morning and taking just a few minutes to read a few pages of a book she couldn’t put away. And the cover of the book is clearly visible as she reads Don’t Go Dog Tonight, a striking and haunting memoir by Alexandra Fuller about her turbulent upbringing in Rhodesia during the civil war. I understand. The inclusion of this work is an interesting choice for Matenge, who lives and works between Africa and Western countries, and may perhaps be indicative of the ongoing ways in which women negotiate their relationships with writing, identity, and place. do not have.
I love that the artist lets me read the title of the book aloud. It’s like a call to us to look for it in our own lives and to inspire our own thinking, even if it contradicts what we read. This, for me, opens up ways to participate in stories that are very different from our own, as in this painting, while at the same time allowing us to bring others into the more intimate spaces of our lives. It emphasizes the value of reading. How many of us have ever asked someone in a conversation, “Are you reading anything you recommend?” or “What was the last book you read?” We love hearing about the books others have read. Because it tells us what other people are like, what they’re interested in, and what excites them. There is hope that we might be able to find common ground. And the hope that we might find something new and interesting that might inspire our own lives.
enuma.okoro@ft.com
