Reading & Literature:
Information Whores
I used to be an information whore.
I reread Wikipedia articles until I could recall every main point like a mindless droid.
I treated book summaries with more love than actual books; real substance and depth gave way to merely . . . remembering the plot well.
I got frustrated when the raw data of literature left me. The dates, names, events—they all escaped their skull prison, and it felt like every hour of recap went in vain. To an information whore, that’s failure. To a wiser reader, a trifle. This original fear kept me in a purgatory of self-education for many years.
Proper learning goes beyond raw information, which is only a tool in a higher mission: understanding. To understand the meaning of a book is to make sense of it. You use every power of logic, rationality and self-awareness to build a picture out of what you read, like an architect who turns measurements and colours into art that transcends both.
I could recall the entire timeline of the Cuban Missile Crisis—it meant nothing.
I could string together every chapter of the Iliad—it meant nothing.
I could go on rants about Skyrim’s rich lore—pretty cool actually, but that’s besides the point.
But where does this pressure for information come from? Can we nip it in the bud?
Natural curiosity drives us to read, watch and listen to great thinkers, but that can easily morph into a lust for information, one that no reader is immune to. ‘Whore’ is a harsh term, but on top of being good shock value in a title, it’s not wrong either.
You can’t blame yourself though. School raised it as the golden bull of education: learn the facts, brand them in your brain, then check the right box in your exam. If you don’t truly understand what the exam questions even mean—who cares? You’ll pass, get your degree and move on with your life.
The symptoms are clear on Youtube too. Every second creator rides the ‘How to remember everything you read’ hype train, and while I roll my eyes at that title, I get it. It’s what people want. But is it what’s right?
True and meaningful progress comes from understanding.
It’s the antidote to the modern laziness of learning, which is saturated with shortcuts, summaries, and snippets of info that crumble to dust at any true test of wisdom.
Information is a raw material, like the bricks of a house, the words in a book, or the notes on a sheet of music. Understanding is the constellation which unites them all.
Bricks become palaces.
Words unite into masterpieces.
Notes dance in the air as full symphonies.
Of course, information is important. It’s great to know dates, narratives and facts, not only as useful context to see the world in, but to also to destroy any pub quiz you enter.
However, without understanding, you have nothing to tie that information together into something bigger than itself. Like a pearl necklace without a string, everything falls apart. Every individual pearl is precious, but no matter how many you own, it’s still not a necklace without a thread to bind them.
As I write this, I’m halfway through The Epic of Gilgamesh. Will I remember every sequence, name and event? No way. Not a chance. Hell, half of them are missing from the book already.
A year ago, that would have worried me. Today, all I want from the book is a reflection of mortality, pride and the vanity of chasing immortal life—the main themes. That is the meaning of the work. Everything else is an accessory to that ultimate goal of understanding, and if it makes us seem less intelligent on the surface level, with a so called ‘bad memory,’ then so be it.
Find the pearls, the little gems of info, but never forget the thread that builds them into a necklace. That is the key to a fruitful reading life.
Yours,
Odysseas