I read 100 books in 2 years. Here’s what I learned.

As I write this, I am in the final days of the longest reading marathon of my life. In January last year, I set myself a challenge to read 52 books in a few weeks. Having (just) completed my goal, I set another goal to read 48 this year, to finish at 100 (journalists like round numbers).

Never have I read so much in such a short time. I’ve never broken a world record, but this is the limit of what I can do while maintaining a normal life and having a job. There is no careful formula for what I choose to read. My guiding light is whatever catches my eye on my periodic walks around Charing Cross Foyles, although that makes me biased towards the latest releases.

I scoffed when columnist Janan Ganesh last year insisted on not reading contemporary books. Nonsense, I thought. The reason for reading is to learn about the world; as a book ages, its value inevitably diminishes.

A year later, my resistance has lessened. Many new books are interesting – but many more are not. I am surprised by how many modern works focus on the same narrow subject matter, yet the variety of choices is so great.

I was also struck by the humor of many contemporary works of non-fiction. For example, it would be a sin for a non-fiction writer not to pay homage to the work of Daniel Kahneman. Thinking Fast and Slow in the middle of their third chapter. And after reading a dozen books, I refused to read another book about AI: no one had anything new to say.

I don’t think the new books are as good – the writing is more clunky and wordy, and the chance of typos is higher. This is partly due to the modern publishing economy, where just a thousand sales can propel an author onto the bestseller lists, depending on the category.

The older books I read are generally much better at holding my attention – the rhythm, register and vocabulary are all richer and more unique. The writers of the past seem more worldly; they have a stronger understanding of their subject’s position in time and space. In contrast, modern US writers in particular show the slightest understanding of anything that happened outside their country.

Learn to read

Not to abuse any preliminary conclusions to the reader: no, I would not claim that my foray into the book was a waste of time. Anything but. Yes, the grimmer titles were a hurdle to get through, but most importantly, I rediscovered my love of reading.

I haven’t read so many books since college – and back then, I rarely read them cover to cover. Like most humanities graduates, I finished my degree feeling reading fatigue, and spent a year or two just reading nothing.

The first challenge I faced was learning to read again. I was surprised at how hard I found it just sitting with a book in my lap. Hours of scrolling during the pandemic have taken their toll on my brain. The urge to reach for my phone after a page and a half was surprising. I realized I wasn’t struggling alone: ​​I stopped gasping when friends said they hadn’t read anything in months, or when they shared their iPhone screen time statistics.

Two years later, I can comfortably read ten or fifteen pages before my mind seeks diversion. Better yet, the endless dopamine spikes from smartphone notifications have been reduced – they often become a distraction.

Times columnist James Marriott is perhaps the best-known chronicler of the dangers of smartphone addiction. He thinks we may have passed peak literacy rates – and he believes that’s to blame.

I’m not sure that smartphones are the cause. The late American writer Neil Postman’s 1985 book Amusing Ourselves to Death (my 88th reading), in which he worried that television would turn us all into fools, showed that moral panic over technological progress was nothing new.

I don’t think smartphone use is necessarily detrimental to the mind – but choosing not to spend hours on your phone requires willpower, like never skipping gym days until your abs are strong. In fact, my interest in books has made me more interested in opening magazines and news apps, and less interested in apps that dazzle me with ‘content creator’ posts and AI-slop videos.

Literary life

Like going to the gym, doing vigorous exercise every day provides noticeable improvements over time.

I believe I have become a better person through my reading habits. I felt a renewed intellectual curiosity. I understand the world better. My understanding of the cultural and economic forces that shape this is sharper. I know when to be interested and when to smell a rat. My writing is smoother, more concise. I’m a sharper editor. I’m also more introspective – and perhaps more arrogant.

I’m also a smarter reader, now. A well-crafted book is, to me, what an old-fashioned sauvignon is to a sommelier. But it takes a lot of bullshit to distinguish between good and bad – which is why I don’t regret reading books I don’t like.

There are several of them. For example: Tom Chatfield’s Wise Animals, which chronicles human evolution, is straightforward; Travis Rieder’s Catastrophe Ethics, a book about the formation of ethical rules in times of crisis, is particularly bad at producing any rules; Ian Goldin and Tom Lee-Devlin’s Age of the City, an analysis of the importance of city centres, is simply a long list of pedestrian observations.

However, the number of books that may soon reach Oxfam is much smaller compared to the number of books that will remain on bookshelves. They include Careless People by Sarah Wynn-Williams; Dana Mattioli’s The War of Everything; Madoff, the Final Word by Richard Behar, The Everything Blueprint by James Ashton and, most bizarrely, a 1970s book on the history of WH Smith (who knew 500 pages in a stationery shop could be such a page turner). What unites them all is a deep forensic knowledge of the subject, whether from personal experience or serious research.

Read more: The top six business books of 2025

With 100 books gone, what now? I’m going to slow down next year, make time for other things, other people. After two years of being obsessed with reading, I needed a new hobby. but my passion for good books remains.

Instead of Foyles, I plan to dive into special corners of the book world, seeking out old favorites and rediscovering forgotten gems. So far I’ve stayed away from fiction – why spend ten hours reading a book when you can watch the film adaptation in two versions, my utilitarian mind barks – but that’s a personal weakness I’m willing to confront.

Part of me wants to write something for myself – but I’m increasingly aware of what a bad book looks like, and the effort it takes to make it good. Maybe someday.