The End of the Age of the Book?

Are we witnessing the end of the age of the book?​

That’s the provocative conclusion of Sam Kahn, editor of Persuasion and author of the Substack Castalia. In a recent essay, he contends that while reading persists, it has become increasingly fragmented, digital and visual.​

It’s no secret: Many students resist reading whole books. Professors, in response, assign fewer. And the consequences ripple outward.​

As students turn to summaries, short videos or AI-generated explanations, something is lost. Classroom discussion thins. Engagement wanes. The university risks becoming a place where ideas are skimmed rather than truly absorbed.​

Kahn is not alone in lamenting this shift. I share his concern. After all, books—especially complex works of fiction and nonfiction—perform a unique cognitive and cultural function. They slow us down, draw us into alternative worlds, philosophical dilemmas and layered arguments. They cultivate habits of sustained attention, reflection and imagination that scrolling and swiping can’t replicate.​

The decline of the book carries implications that extend far beyond the classroom. They touch the very structure of thought, memory and consciousness itself. The book is not, and never was, a neutral medium.​

However, if the book is receding from the center of intellectual life, the question is not only what we stand to lose, but what will take its place.

The Publishing Industry’s Failure to Adapt to Shifting Realities

Kahn argues that the traditional book format is increasingly misaligned with the demands of the digital era. He observes that many contemporary works, both fiction and nonfiction, often feel like ideas unnaturally stretched to meet conventional book lengths.

Kahn criticizes the publishing industry’s adherence to this outdated format, suggesting that shorter forms like articles, essays and novellas may better suit today’s readers, who favor quick, fragmented engagement typical of online interactions.​

He also reflects on the structural constraints of traditional books, particularly in genres like biography and history, where a linear narrative may not best serve the subject matter. Kahn proposes alternative structures, such as the “archipelago” model, his metaphor for decentralized, interconnected cultural and intellectual approach that could allow for more flexible and engaging storytelling, better aligned with the fragmented yet interconnected nature of digital media.

This approach would enable writers to present multiple facets of a subject without adhering to a strict chronological order.​

However, Kahn also expresses concern about the cultural and historical implications of moving away from books as stable repositories of knowledge and wisdom. He suggests that while the medium may evolve, it is crucial to find ways to preserve and transmit the depth and richness of human thought that books have traditionally embodied.

Kahn urges writers, publishers and readers to reconsider the role of books in the digital age and to explore new forms and structures that can carry forward the intellectual and cultural functions that books historically fulfilled.

My Own Experiment

I’ve authored and edited 16 books, with another—The American Child: The Transformation of Childhood Since World War II, co-authored with Peter N. Stearns—due out this fall.

However, I’ve come to realize that books aren’t the only or necessarily the most effective, way to reach readers.

To complement traditional publishing, I’ve launched a free, open-access Substack forum called Luminare: Reflections on History, the Arts and the Enduring Questions of Human Existence.

The term “luminare” is an old, poetic word meaning a source of light—not just physically, but spiritually and intellectually. It’s a guiding flame that illuminates difficult truths and helps others see more clearly.

I envision this forum as a space to grapple with the questions that haunt us: meaning, love, mortality, justice, beauty, the emotional and ethical dimensions of our lives, the cultural inheritance we carry and the price of modernity.

And always, the deeper question: What does it mean to live—and to teach—thoughtfully, purposefully and humanely?

I invite you to join this conversation. Please feel free to subscribe.

The Book as a Medium of Consciousness

For two millennia, books have been central to knowledge transmission and cognitive development. Scholars like Walter Ong and Maryanne Wolf argue that print culture has fundamentally reshaped human cognition, fostering linear reasoning, abstract thought and complex syntax.

The novel, in particular, is credited with enhancing empathy and moral imagination by allowing readers to experience diverse perspectives. Philosopher Martha Nussbaum emphasizes that literature cultivates the “narrative imagination”—the ability to understand individuals different from ourselves.​

Marshall McLuhan’s assertion that “the medium is the message” suggests that the printing press did more than disseminate ideas; it structured thought processes. Books trained minds to think sequentially, follow extended arguments and engage in silent dialogue with authors, shaping a modern self characterized by introspection and moral reflection.​

Neil Postman, in Amusing Ourselves to Death, warned that the shift from print to image-based media like television would erode rational discourse, prioritizing entertainment over substantive argument. This trend has intensified with the rise of social media and algorithm-driven content, which favor brevity and emotional appeal over depth and deliberation.​

Postman contended that the typographic culture of the Enlightenment fostered public discourse grounded in reason, with books serving as training grounds for democratic citizenship.

Similarly, Sven Birkerts, in The Gutenberg Elegies, argued that immersive reading deepens knowledge and character, teaching patience, embracing ambiguity and engaging with complexity. Maryanne Wolf, in Proust and the Squid and Reader, Come Home, provides neuroscientific evidence that reading literary fiction activates high-level brain functions, including empathy, inference, reflection and critical thinking. ​

These scholars suggest that reading books—especially novels and comprehensive nonfiction—cultivates mental habits essential for personal growth and civic engagement.

The Decline of Long-Form Reading

Evidence of a decline in book reading is mounting. Surveys from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Pew Research Center show a steady decline in literary reading, especially among young adults. Instructors report that students struggle to finish assigned readings, even relatively short ones. The result is not only a loss of literary knowledge, but a loss of the cognitive scaffolding that books provide.

Books offer an immersive, sustained engagement with ideas. They foster the ability to follow an argument, weigh evidence and interpret nuance. Fiction nurtures empathy by placing readers inside other minds. Nonfiction develops the ability to grapple with competing claims and long-range thinking. When books disappear from classrooms, those habits diminish.

And yet, the decline of the book need not be framed entirely as a loss.

After the Book: What Comes Next?

What if the age of the book is not ending, but evolving? What if serious engagement is migrating—not vanishing—into new forms?

Interactive essays, long-form newsletters, podcasts, digital storytelling, AI-assisted research and multimedia formats are all expanding our options for immersive engagement. These aren’t mere distractions. At their best, they cultivate new forms of attention: more sensory, dialogic and relational.

Platforms like Substack have enabled writers to build engaged communities of readers. Podcasts, when well crafted, invite reflective listening and narrative immersion that rivals the best essays. Hybrid media—combining image, text, sound and hyperlink—offer pathways to knowledge that can be both rigorous and accessible.

These formats also expand access. Print culture historically privileged certain classes, languages and literacies. Digital media, for all their downsides, have opened up space for previously marginalized voices and storytelling traditions. Audio, video and visual formats can reach those who struggle with traditional literacy—and can engage the senses in ways print never could.

This doesn’t mean that books are obsolete. As Maryanne Wolf reminds us, deep reading fosters mental circuitry that no other medium fully replicates. But we might think of the post-book world not as an erasure, but as an expansion: a remixing of cognitive possibilities.

The challenge is to ensure that the best of book culture—its depth, nuance and ethical seriousness—survives and adapts. That might mean designing curricula that pair long-form texts with interactive discussion or developing digital formats that reward slow engagement rather than instant reaction.

The Next Chapter

If the printed book helped shape a certain kind of self—reflective, analytical, morally attuned—then its decline raises urgent questions about what kinds of selves we are now becoming. Yet this need not be a story of cultural loss. The waning of the book as our dominant medium does not signal the end of serious thought, deep reading or transformative writing. It marks a transition—one filled with both challenge and possibility.

Colleges and universities have a vital role to play in meeting this moment. In an era when AI threatens to make writing optional and attention spans are increasingly fragmented, we must reaffirm writing not as a task to be completed, but as a powerful mode of thinking, discovery and human connection.

We can begin by reimagining reading as an active, interpretive practice. That means building curricula around fewer but more substantial texts—books that demand time, patience and thought. It means encouraging students to slow down, reread, question structure, unpack arguments and consider ideas from multiple disciplinary angles—historical, philosophical, literary and scientific.

Faculty should model what deep reading looks like: how language works, how claims are made, how meaning unfolds. We should ask students not simply to summarize, but to paraphrase, reframe and respond. Tools like annotation—digital or analog—can help cultivate more engaged, reflective readers.

Equally important is our approach to writing. Writing should not be treated as mere output, but as a mode of inquiry—recursive, messy and generative. Writing centers should become hubs of intellectual development, not just sites for proofreading. Exploratory writing—journals, reflections, quick in-class prompts—can help students discover what they think and how their thinking evolves.

We should also embrace new forms without abandoning the old. Thoughtful assignments might blend traditional essays with multimodal forms—podcasts, blogs, video essays, zines—while still asking students to reason clearly and argue persuasively. Rhetorical agility—the ability to adapt voice, tone and argument to different audiences and platforms—is a 21st-century skill we must nurture.

And we must confront AI not with fear, but with creativity. Assignments should be personal, context-rich and specific—difficult to fake and deeply rewarding to write. Students should be asked to explain their process, defend their interpretive choices and even compare their work to AI-generated responses. In doing so, they learn not just how to write, but how to reflect—on meaning, authorship and originality.

In short, we must treat reading not as passive absorption, but as active engagement. We must restore writing as a vehicle of insight, not just a means of evaluation. And we must equip students to navigate a world saturated with information—but hungry for meaning.

Higher education must make the case—by word and deed—that writing is not merely a skill to be mastered, but a way of becoming more fully human. The decline of the book may be real. But so too is the opportunity to carry forward its deepest gifts: attentiveness, imagination, moral complexity and the quiet discipline of thought.

​The book’s central place may be fading—but its legacy can still shape the future. In this pivotal moment, we must cultivate students who can grapple with complex ideas and articulate their insights with clarity, coherence and conviction. As we embark on this new chapter in human expression, we need to equip our students with the essential tools to author the future.