I was standing in a bookshop last week. Two books in my hands.
One had everything going for it—strong reviews, a compelling blurb, the kind of reputation that whispers this is worth your time. It’s even been adapted into a film.
And yet… I turned to the first page.
I read a paragraph. Then another.
And nothing happened.
No pull. No spark. No quiet sense of I need to know what happens next.
So I put it back.
The second book didn’t carry the same weight of reputation. But from the first sentence, something clicked. By the end of the first page, I was already leaning in.
That’s the one I took home.
I realised, standing there, that I hadn’t chosen based on reputation, or even promise.
I chose based on how quickly the story made me feel something.
And I don’t think I’m alone in that.
We’re Not Just Choosing Between Books Anymore
We often hear it said that readers today have shorter attention spans. That books need to hook us faster than they used to.
But I’m not convinced that’s quite the right way to understand what’s changed.
Because we’re not just choosing between one book and another.
We’re choosing between a book and everything else.
A novel doesn’t sit in a quiet world anymore, waiting patiently to be discovered. It competes.
With streaming platforms.
With games on our phones.
With the endless scroll of social media, always ready to offer something quicker, brighter, easier.
We open a book in the middle of noise. And in that kind of environment, attention isn’t assumed. It’s earned.
Would We Still Read Them Today?
Which brings me to a question I can’t quite shake.
If a story opened today the way J. R. R. Tolkien or Charles Dickens often did—patiently, gradually, with no immediate hook—would we stay?
Or would we quietly set it aside?
And if the answer is that we wouldn’t… have we lost something?
Have we traded depth for immediacy?
Have we become so accustomed to being pulled in quickly that we no longer tolerate stories that take their time?
Have We Lost Something?
I think that’s the fear sitting underneath a lot of these conversations.
That in order to survive in an attention economy, stories have to become faster. Simpler. More surface-level. That a slow burn is no longer viable.
But I’m not sure that conclusion holds.
Because I’ve read books that hooked me from the very first line—and still unfolded slowly, richly, with real emotional weight. Stories that didn’t rush. Stories that lingered. Stories that trusted me to stay… but also gave me a reason to.
Depth Doesn’t Require Delay
Which makes me wonder if we’ve misunderstood the trade-off. Maybe the issue isn’t that modern readers won’t tolerate depth.
Maybe it’s that we’re less willing to wait for a story to find its depth.
I don’t think I’ve become less willing to read deeply. But I do think I’ve become less willing to wait for a story to show me why I should. Especially when I know—whether I like it or not—that if this one doesn’t, something else will.
Something always does.
A Different Kind of Challenge
We are reading in a world full of noise. That much is true. Stories have to earn their place in a way they perhaps didn’t before.
But I’m not convinced that means they have to become shallower. Or faster, in the sense of rushing past what matters.
Perhaps the real challenge is something else entirely.
To write stories that are deep… and still compelling enough, from the very beginning, to be chosen.
And now I’m curious.
Hi Milla, These are interesting questions to ponder. I’m more likely to roll through and keep reading a slower starting story (and not necessarily notice the slower or more relaxed start) if I’m familiar with the author and trust them to deliver a great story. I’m already committed to reading and not thinking about the DNF (did not finish) option. If I’m not engaging with the story at the start, I usually assume the problem is me eg. I’m not in the mood for reading, not in mood for this particular genre or type of story etc.
I have been known to contact trusted friends and ask them to read a book sample online to find out if I’m way off base with my perceptions of the story opening or if it really is boring and not engaging. I really don’t like breaking up with authors who I’ve enjoyed reading in the past.
It’s a completely different situation when it’s a new-to-me author who hasn’t been recommended by a trusted source who knows what I like to read. I’m very fast to DNF a sample — or put the book aside to try again later — if I’m not hooked into the story in the opening pages. I’ve learned from experience that a story usually goes downhill and doesn’t get better in Chapter 2 or 3 or later. An early DNF saves me from wasting time reading a book I’m not enjoying and want to quit reading.
It’s often the author’s voice and their unique perspective of the story world that draws me in. If that’s missing, I’ll pass on reading the book.
I agree, other forms of entertainment can be easier to connect with from the start. Books require effort, concentration, and a time investment as well for longer books.
Thank you—this is such a thoughtful response, and I recognise so much of myself in what you’ve described.
I think what you said about trust is really key. When we already know an author and believe they’ll deliver, we’re willing to settle in differently. We’re not evaluating every page in quite the same way because the relationship is already there. That almost creates a kind of “buffer” against the attention economy, doesn’t it?
And I smiled at your point about assuming the problem might be you—I’ve done that too. Sometimes it is about mood or timing rather than the book itself, which makes the whole question even more complicated. I can think of at least three books off the top of my head that I was genuinely enjoying… and have still set aside because I wasn’t in the right headspace to finish them.
What you said about new-to-you authors is especially interesting. That’s where the “first page test” feels most real to me as well. Without that existing trust, the book really does have to earn its place very quickly—or at least give enough of a sense of voice or direction to make you want to stay.
I also found your comment about voice really insightful. That sense of a distinct perspective—something that makes you feel like you’re in this story, not just any story—might actually be one of the ways a book creates that early connection without sacrificing depth.
And yes, you’re absolutely right—books do ask more of us than most other forms of entertainment. Which makes it all the more interesting that we still want them, still choose them… but perhaps with slightly different expectations than we once did.
Thank you again for taking the time to share this—I really appreciated it.
I loved this. Thank you for sharing your ponderings.
I had more patience when my options were lower. I’m much quicker to set a book aside these days if I feel no promise of enjoyment or depth, especially depth. I want my books to give me depth.
I can’t immediately say which book recently had a slow start but a great ending, but normally it would be because I had committed to finishing it for various reasons.
But I really enjoyed your thoughts on this.
Thank you! That means a lot to me.
I think what you said about having more patience when your options were fewer is really striking. That’s exactly the shift I was trying to get at, but you’ve put it so simply. When there’s less competing for our attention, it’s easier to stay and see what a story becomes.
And I really resonated with your point about wanting depth. That’s the part I keep coming back to as well. I don’t think that desire has gone anywhere. If anything, it feels stronger. It’s just that we’re perhaps less willing to wait for it unless we sense it’s there from the beginning.
Your comment about finishing a book because you’ve committed to it is interesting too. There’s something in that: how often we choose to stay with a story versus feeling a sense of obligation to finish it.
Thank you again for sharing this. I really appreciate you taking the time to engage so thoughtfully.