The Accidental Reading Club of the London Underground
Have you ever realised that the lack of internet coverage in London’s Underground might be a hidden blessing?
On my Central Line journey recently, I, as a habitual people-watcher, observed a tale of two worlds unfolding within the same carriage. Most passengers remained tethered to their digital devices despite the connection void – wanderers in an electronic labyrinth with no exit; thumbs scrolling through cached content - eyes fixed on screens showing reflections of themselves more than anything else. Fortunately, against this digital backdrop, I glimpsed a group of ‘the quiet adventurers’ – those whose hands cradled physical books or e-ink readers instead. While the former group of passengers remained trapped in the shallow pools of their devices, these readers had dove headlong into oceans of narrative: swimming through currents of imagination and distant shores of thought. Their eyes moved across pages like explorers charting unmapped territories; their subtle facial expressions shifting with each new discovery in these worlds constructed entirely upon words and their wonder. This striking contrast filled me with an unexpected sense of gratitude – to witness people who had found portals to the world of worlds in something as simple as bound paper.
The behavioural science here intrigues me. When the default option shifts unwillingly: as the tube passes through stations without internet coverage and thus scrolling through endless feeds becomes impossible, some of us naturally gravitate toward alternatives waiting in our bags. That paperback we’ve been meaning to start, suddenly, becomes the path of least resistance. The words on the opening page beckon as if a secret melody only we can hear: each sentence as a subtle nod, a gentle, invisible hand extended in invitation - the first notes of a dance that’s been waiting patiently for our arrival. And just like that - a thousand doorways swing open before us. Each page is a new landscape where characters breathe and mountains rise from flat paper, where starships slice through nebulae and footsteps echo down forgotten corridors of ancient castles waiting for us to discover their secrets. Or perhaps what awaits is more intimate than we, as deep thinkers, have been living without with - the gentle unfolding of a mind unlike our own, where an author’s whispered insights through centuries to find our ears alone, or where complex ideas dance and intertwine like constellations being mapped for the first time, inviting us to a silent symposium that the greatest thinkers who ever lived lean close, and whisper to our ears with their most precious revelations.
To me, what’s remarkable isn’t just that people read, but how they read. Without the constant interruption of notifications, I’ve watched fellow commuters become completely absorbed in their books! It’s, truly yet sadly, a rarity of sustained attention in our fragmented digital lives.
I’ve personally turned this connectivity gap into a deliberate reading sanctuary: noise-canceling headphones create a cocoon of quiet, my phone stays on “do not disturb”, and that tattered copy of “The Mind is Flat” written by one of my supervisors Professor Nick Chater from Warwick Business School receives my undivided attention for 45 uninterrupted minutes.
With a few dose of my curiosity, I suspect these internet-free zones aren’t technological limitations but accidental wellbeing features. Physical zones like the tube, of course, often create a sense of boredom, but it is in this empty space where creativity germinates - much like a child picking up a few scattered Lego pieces and conjuring entire worlds from plastic blocks, that our minds find ourselves freedom - to weather, wander and wonder. These digital deserts have become London’s largest daily reading club that spans every line and station.
What about you? Has your commute become an unexpected reading retreat? What book is currently accompanying your Underground journey?