I read this for a book club. We selected it based on some of the reviews we had seen about it.

While it was interesting, it was more about the psychology of reading (or not) and our relationships to books and other people through books.

It was much drier than I expected. I do not know if that was due to the translation or the original text. It isn't hard to read, it just didn't really grip me. I found some humor but not the ROTFL that I had expected from the other reviews.

If you are into academic discussions of literature, this is a must read.

My students tell me that they often take courses and even do well in
them without ever buying a text . . . so in an attempt to find out how this
is possible, I came across HOW TO TALK ABOUT BOOKS YOU
HAVEN'T READ by Pierre Bayard (a French literature professor) . . . I
actually read it and in doing so, found out that my students probably are
similar to those of the author:

* It is not astonishing that my students, without having read the
book I am discussing, quickly grasp certain of its elements and
feel free to comment on it, based on their cultural notions and personal
history. And it is also unsurprising that their comments--however far
removed from the initial text (but what, in fact, might it mean to be
close?)--bring to the encounter an originality that they would undoubtedly
have lacked had they undertaken to read the book.

Bayard in a witty fashion covers all sorts of non-reading: books we've
never cracked open, those we've merely skimmed, books that we've
never laid on but have heard about from others, and those that we read
years ago and have long since forgotten . . . he uses examples from such
writers as Graham Greene, Oscar Wilde and Montagne and even,
for good measure, brings in the film GROUNDHOG DAY.

He also gives useful advice; e.g., when finding yourself having to talk to
an author about one of his books that you haven't read, you should:

* Praise it without going into details. An author does not expect
a summary or a rational analysis of his book and would even prefer
you not to attempt such a thing. He expects only that, while
maintaining the greatest possible degree of ambiguity, you will tell him
that you like what he wrote.

Lastly, I liked Bayard's suggestion on what to do if and when
somebody doubts what you have to say about a book:

* If you have begun talking about a book imprudently and
your remarks are challenged, nothing prevents you from
backtracking and declaring that you've made a mistake. Our
unreading or forgetting plays such a significant role that there
is little risk in declaring yourself the victim of one of the any
lapses in memory induced by or reading-non-reading-of books.
Even a book that we recall with great precision is in some sense
a screen book, behind which our own inner book is concealed.
But in this particular case, is it really the best solution for the artist
to admit his error?

You won't be recognized as a literary genius after having read HOW
TO TALK ABOUT BOOKS YOU HAVEN'T READ . . . however, you
will impress at least a few people . . . and you'll have a fun time
along the way.

An entertaining satire, beautifully translated, on the world of "professional readers", but including really everyone who reads widely and eclectically. Bayard instructs, with tongue appropriately in cheek, us on how to give lectures, converse with critics, authors, and even Professors at length on books that one has not actually read...or read and forgotten. The satire is like the creamy chocolate whose center is expected to be soft, but actually contains a steel ball-bearing of important literary theory, appreciation of which leads to a much greater understanding of literature and its place in our lives. As "no man is an island", so no book stands alone but rather occupies a place somewhere in our own great personal virtual library. The book that I am writing about here is, of course, not the book that you are going to read should you buy it. I have, unconsciously, matched its words, paraphrased it, corrected it, all to conform with my own personal reality and the result is that my book cannot be the same as yours. We might even have a fight over this book, a fight entirely due to the fact that we have read "different books". Different again from the book Professor Bayard thinks that he wrote !!
David

Sometimes when you see a title like this, you might think it's some sort of metaphor or wry comment that's going to be the stepping-off point for something entirely different from what you'd expect. It seems unlikely that this title would actually describe exactly what it is about. But, in fact, Mr. Bayard wishes to teach you how to talk about books you haven't read.

In all honesty, it really can't be said that Mr. Bayard is going to "teach" you. He points out that, no matter how well-read we are, we all are periodically put in situations where we have to speak intelligently about a book of which we know nothing and that we can do it quite well. We all know "how" to talk about books we haven't read. What it seems that Mr. Bayard is really trying to do is to convince us it's okay. We shouldn't feel guilty when we do it. Instead, we should revel in it.

He does this in a very specific progression which I will not do the injustice to try to summarize too specifically here. Suffice it to say that he first describes how we all talk about books we haven't read anyway. Then he describes how to handle various book encounters with others. Finally, he describes how all books are essentially reflections of ourselves and we should keep that in the forefront. He does this through wonderful examples from literature and his own (non-) reading.

Of all the fine arguments Mr. Bayard makes, let me just throw out one: he points out that even books we've read carefully (not to mention books we've "skimmed") we start to forget even as we read the next line. How, then, can we say we've "read" a book or that we "know" it? Even when we discuss books we've read, we're merely discussing that book reflected through ourselves. Ultimately, this is little different from discussing our impression of a book we've never read. In this case, our knowledge of the book may come to us filtered through another's reading (if they've actually read the book) but the result is much the same.

All in all, Mr. Bayard has produced a slim, clever, well-written analysis of reading. Readers and non-readers alike would get much out of it. At least, that's my impression.

According to Pierre Bayard reading books and not reading books but discussing them anyway, are not necessarily mutually exclusive -- non-reading becomes another form of reading.

On one level this book will teach you to talk about books intelligently: skimming; reading reviews; creating stories about what one has read and forgotten; and if all else fails, talk about oneself and how the book impacted or failed to impact you. Basically, read books, or talk about them -- either way, you'll be more interesting for other people to know -- and perhaps happier in your own life.

It occurred to me that perhaps I might apply his message to other of my interests, wine, for example, where I taste many wines every year, write down my impressions, post them on the internet, and discuss them online or in person. Why taste the wines? Why not just have the conversations? I've spelled out the idea in the following little essay:

*****

I spent a few minutes two days ago skimming through HOW TO TALK ABOUT BOOKS YOU HAVEN'T READ, by Pierre Bayard, a French professor of literature. It occurred to me that I would greatly improve not only my wine tasting notes, but also the discussion of the wines reviewed with folks who read my notes if I applied Professor Bayard's teaching.

Herewith, the argument, based in large measure on the good professor's Preface to his very well reviewed study. Only the references to books in his Preface have been deleted, and I've replaced those references with references to tasting wines.

Born into a milieu where wine drinking was rare, deriving little pleasure from the activity when I actually tasted any wine, and lacking in any case the time to devote myself to it, I have often found myself in the delicate situation of having to express my thoughts on wines I haven't actually tasted.

Because I talk and write about wine with a large number of wine lovers around the world, there is, in fact, no way to avoid commenting on wines that most of the time I haven't even opened. It' s true that this is also the case for the majority of my friends, but if even one of them has tasted the wine I'm discussing, there is a risk that at any moment our conversation will be disrupted and I will find myself humiliated.

In addition, I am regularly called on to discuss wines in written tasting notes, since these for the most part concern the wines that have been tasted and discussed by others. This exercise is even more problematic, since unlike spoken statements -- which can include imprecision without consequence -- written commentaries leave traces and can be verified.

As a result of such all-too-familiar situations, I believe I am well positioned, if not to offer any real lesson on the subject, at least to convey a deeper understanding of the non-tasters experience and to undertake a meditation on this forbidden subject.

It is unsurprising that so few texts extol the virtues of not tasting wine. Indeed, to describe your experience in this area, as I will attempt here, demands a certain courage, for doing so clashes inevitably with a whole series of internalized constraints.

Three of these, at least, are crucial. The first of these constraints might be called the obligation to actually taste wine. We still live in a society, on the decline though it may be, where wine remains the object of a kind of worship. This worship applies particularly to a number of canonical [i.e. hundred point] wines -- the list varies according to the circles you move in -- which it is practically forbidden not to have tasted if you want to be taken seriously.

The second constraint, similar to the first but nonetheless distinct, might be called the obligation to taste wine carefully and thoroughly. If it's frowned upon not to taste wine, it's almost as bad to just read the labels or skim the wine catalogs, and