There’s a particular intimacy that comes with reading a book about reading itself—a meta-experience that feels like having coffee with a friend who truly understands your relationship with books. Hwang Bo-reum’s Every Day I Read: 53 Ways to Get Closer to Books offers precisely this kind of companionship, inviting readers into a sustained meditation on what it means to build a life around literature. Unlike prescriptive reading guides or productivity-focused how-tos, this collection of 53 essays approaches reading as both sanctuary and practice, examining not just what we read or how much, but why reading matters at all.
Originally published in Korean in 2017 and updated in 2021, this book arrives in English translation at a moment when many readers are reassessing their relationship with books in an increasingly distracted world. Hwang, who left her software engineering career to write full-time, brings the perspective of someone who has chosen reading as a central organizing principle of her existence—not as escapism, but as a deliberate engagement with life itself.
The Architecture of a Reading Life
What distinguishes Hwang’s approach in Every Day I Read – 53 Ways to Get Closer to Books is her refusal to romanticize reading while simultaneously celebrating its profound importance. She writes with the clear-eyed honesty of someone who has experienced both the salvific power of books during her darkest corporate days and the simple pleasure of an evening spent absorbed in prose. Each essay functions as a discrete meditation on a specific aspect of reading culture: from the practical considerations of when to abandon a book midway, to the philosophical question of whether books are “useful,” to the communal experience of book clubs.
The structure itself mirrors the reading life—non-linear, sometimes repetitive, always returning to core concerns from different angles. Some essays run just a few pages; others unfold more expansively. This variability creates a rhythm that feels organic rather than forced, allowing readers to pick up the book for ten minutes or settle in for a longer session. Hwang discusses reading on trains during her exhausting commute, choosing between bestsellers and obscure titles, the joy of collecting quotes, and the specific comfort of reading in bed with warm lamplight.
Throughout, she weaves in references to an impressive range of literature—from Hermann Hesse’s Demian to Nicholas Carr’s The Shallows, from Korean poetry collections to French philosophy. These aren’t show-offy citations but genuine touchstones that have shaped her understanding of reading itself. When she describes standing in front of her bookshelf and feeling moved by the thought that someone, somewhere, might be reaching for her own book at that very moment, the vulnerability is palpable and earned.
The Translator’s Gift and Cultural Context
Shanna Tan’s translation of Every Day I Read – 53 Ways to Get Closer to Books deserves particular recognition for maintaining the conversational warmth of Hwang’s Korean prose while making it accessible to English readers. The text retains cultural specificity—references to Korean work culture, bookshop geography in Seoul, local literary traditions—without ever feeling opaque or requiring excessive explanation. This balance enriches the reading experience, offering glimpses into Korean literary culture while maintaining the universal resonance of Hwang’s central concerns.
The essays frequently reference Korean authors and texts that may be unfamiliar to Western readers, which becomes both a strength and occasional limitation. While Hwang’s enthusiasm makes these recommendations compelling, readers seeking immediate engagement with her suggested books may find some titles difficult to locate in English translation. This creates an interesting tension: the book celebrates accessibility and inclusivity in reading while sometimes gesturing toward a literary landscape that remains partially inaccessible to its English-language audience.
Where the Book Shines
The collection’s greatest strength lies in its fundamental gentleness. In an era of reading challenges, quantified book goals, and social media performance of literary consumption, Hwang offers permission to read slowly, to give up on books that don’t resonate, to reread favorites, to value emotional response over critical distance. Her essay on using a timer app to rebuild concentration demonstrates practical wisdom, while her reflection on reading during holidays acknowledges that sometimes the best reading experience is simply lying in bed with a good book rather than attempting to read at a café in Prague.
Particularly moving are the essays that examine reading’s relationship to work, identity, and mental health. Hwang writes candidly about using books as a lifeline during depressive periods, about the anxiety of pursuing writing as a career, about finding hope in literature when despair threatens to overwhelm. These moments elevate the collection beyond reading advice into genuine memoir territory, revealing how books have literally shaped the trajectory of her life.
Her observations about community and solitude in reading strike an effective balance. She celebrates solo reading while also exploring book clubs, sharing recommendations with friends, and the joy of discussing books with others. The essay “What Have You Been Reading?” beautifully demonstrates how asking about someone’s current read can open unexpected intimacies, as friends reveal their struggles, hopes, and worldviews through the books they’ve chosen.
The Limitations of Lovely
Yet the book’s gentleness occasionally becomes its limitation. At 53 essays, some inevitable repetition emerges—certain books get referenced multiple times, similar points about the value of reading resurface in different contexts. While this echoing can feel meditative, it can also create a sense that the collection might have benefited from tighter editing or a slightly reduced essay count. The distinction between, say, “Read Books That You’re Interested In” and “Read Beyond What You’re Interested In” feels somewhat arbitrary, though both essays contain worthwhile insights.
Additionally, while Hwang acknowledges different reading approaches and preferences, the book occasionally assumes a level of reading privilege—time, space, financial resources to build personal libraries, freedom to visit bookshops regularly—that may not reflect all readers’ realities. Her decision to curate a collection of exactly 500 books feels aspirational in ways that could alienate readers working with more constrained circumstances.
The essay on e-books and digital reading, while thoughtful, reveals some dated assumptions about electronic texts. Written before the pandemic accelerated digital reading’s adoption, Hwang’s skepticism toward e-readers and screens reflects a particular moment in literary culture that has arguably already shifted. Her emphasis on physical books, while heartfelt, may not resonate equally with younger readers or those for whom digital reading has become primary.
Who Will Find Home Here
Every Day I Read – 53 Ways to Get Closer to Books will most deeply reward readers who already love reading and are seeking language to articulate why it matters to them. It functions less as a conversion text for non-readers than as affirmation and deepening for the already converted. Those experiencing reading slumps, questioning their relationship with books, or seeking to rebuild a reading practice after disruption will find genuine solace and practical wisdom here.
Writers, particularly emerging writers, will recognize themselves in Hwang’s journey from corporate employee to professional author, and her insights into the reading-writing relationship offer valuable perspective. Her honesty about financial precarity, self-doubt, and the challenges of pursuing creative work grounds the collection in reality rather than fantasy.
Readers interested in Korean literature and culture will appreciate the window into contemporary Korean literary life, even if some references remain tantalizingly out of reach in English.
Companions on the Shelf
For readers drawn to Hwang’s approach in Every Day I Read – 53 Ways to Get Closer to Books, several similar titles offer complementary perspectives:
Anne Fadiman’s Ex Libris: Confessions of a Common Reader shares Hwang’s warmth while bringing distinctly American literary culture into focus
Alberto Manguel’s A History of Reading provides historical depth to many questions Hwang raises about reading practices
Lynne Sharon Schwartz’s Ruined by Reading offers similarly personal essays about a life shaped by literature
Joe Queenan’s One for the Books brings humor to similar territory while examining reading obsession
Jenny Diski’s What I Don’t Know About Animals demonstrates the essay form’s capacity for combining personal narrative with broader inquiry
Hwang’s previous work, Welcome to the Hyunam-dong Bookshop, takes these themes into fiction, while her other essay collections like Trying Kickboxing for the First Time extend her interest in examining everyday practices with philosophical attention.
The Final Page
Every Day I Read – 53 Ways to Get Closer to Books ultimately succeeds as both celebration and investigation, honoring reading’s capacity to sustain us while examining exactly how and why that sustenance works. Hwang writes: “Books may not give me answers, but they nudge me towards the right direction.” This modest claim captures the book’s essential wisdom—reading offers not solutions but companionship, not certainty but possibility.
The collection’s gentle insistence that reading matters, that it shapes who we become, that building a reading life constitutes a worthy project in itself, feels quietly radical in our current moment. While the book may not convert skeptics or revolutionize how dedicated readers approach their practice, it offers something perhaps more valuable: recognition, validation, and the warm pleasure of finding your private reading life reflected and honored on the page.
For those who have ever felt reading is their truest form of resistance, comfort, and joy, Hwang’s essays provide the rare gift of being seen and understood. In a world demanding productivity and measurable outcomes, this book’s argument that reading for its own sake matters carries subversive power wrapped in the softest packaging.