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Toronto Star
06-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Toronto Star
What in the world are silent reading clubs, and why are they cropping up all over Toronto?
Toronto the Better Toronto the Better is an ambitious, optimistic and constructive series exploring how we can improve the quality of life in this city, both collectively and individually. One night a month, an unusual phenomenon takes place in the back corner of the Bampot tea house on Harbord Street. As spectacles go, it's notably quiet: A group of people, scattered around tables, bow their heads over books. The titles they're absorbed in — a plastic-covered library hardback of 'Witchcraft: A History in Thirteen Trials' by Marion Gibson; 'The Paradise Problem' by Christina Lauren on Kindle; a well-thumbed paperback of Madeline Miller's 'The Song of Achilles' — are as diverse as the readers. This is a meeting of the Curious Company Reading Club, started by friends Lawvin Hadisi and Marilyn Kehl. ARTICLE CONTINUES BELOW 'Marilyn and I really bonded over reading. We were reading the same books, or if we weren't (we were) saying, 'You need to read this book,'' Hadisi, who works in health care marketing, told the Star. 'We were constantly messaging each other.' One day last spring they had a brainstorm: What if they read together, rather than alone beside partners who didn't understand why they couldn't put that book down? And what if they did it in public, inviting others to join? 'Reading has been seen as an isolating hobby that you would do on your own,' Hadasi said. 'Our reading club and others are reinventing that. Reading in the presence of other people is just as fun as other hobbies. We have a social aspect as well, so you're getting the best of both worlds.' Their first meeting was on a Thursday evening last June at Trinity Bellwoods Park. Nearly a year later, it's become a regular monthly event where time is split between reading and chatting. Some attendees are dedicated bookworms plowing through multiple books a week; others are looking to get their reading mojo back after hitting a slump. 'We've had some people who purely want to focus on reading; some people want to engage. We're just fostering a meetup, and there's no right or wrong answer to the approach,' Kehl said. 'The whole point of it is to build a bit of community.' 'Reading in the presence of other people is just as fun as other hobbies,' said Lawvin Hadisi, co-founder of the Curious Company Reading Club. Courtesy of Curious Company Literature as a communal activity has usually taken the form of a book club, where members read the same book and then get together to talk about it. A new wave of reading clubs — or clubs about books that are not book clubs — are offering the city's bibliophiles a different way to share their love. ARTICLE CONTINUES BELOW ARTICLE CONTINUES BELOW For Malcolm Duncan, founding Actual Book Club in 2023 was an act of resistance against social media's obsession with books as esthetic objects. 'I thought it would be a good idea to get ahead of the inevitable commodification. I wanted to create a space for people who read, without the financial obligation associated with this type of resurgence, or the social pressure of traditional book clubs,' said Duncan, a 30-year-old urban planner. 'Actual Book Club takes a meta perspective — rethinking what a book club is and what it can be.' Practically speaking, that encompasses a meeting at Parkdale's Osprey Cafe once a month and hosting the occasional book swap or zine launch. 'Being a 'club about books' rather than a 'club about a book' gives our members the autonomy to read what they like on their own schedule,' Duncan said. 'Since we're not all reading the same book at the same time, our meetings often include more generalized book discussions, recommendations and present opportunities for peer-to-peer lending.' Along the way, the club has raised more than $2,000 for charities like the literacy program Parkdale Project Read. 'My favourite moments are the ones that bring me closer to people,' said Duncan, who describes the monthly meetups as 'very chill, unpretentious, third space kind of vibes.' The 'third space' element — the idea that humans need a place that's not home or work to connect with others — is key to the appeal of this growing global trend, according to Amanda Gauthier, a category manager at Indigo. ARTICLE CONTINUES BELOW ARTICLE CONTINUES BELOW It's not dissimilar to a long-standing behaviour that the bookstore chain has embraced for decades, she said — 'that someone would come and sit in a stuffed chair in the window of a downtown street and read publicly as a gift to themselves. 'There's something about occupying that space that must scratch some kind of itch in terms of a soft social need that we have.' Malcolm Duncan founded Actual Book Club in 2023 as an act of resistance against social media's obsession with books as esthetic objects. Courtesy of Actual Book Club Citing Alberto Manguel's 'A History of Reading,' Gauthier added that the first libraries were not silent places anyway, since reading was done by sounding out letters aloud. 'I think of that often, that idea that there is something about recognizing a fellow reader, seeing and understanding what they're experiencing.' She also connects it to a dissatisfaction with our screen-centric lives. 'The penny is dropping. We want to get off our phones. This does feel like a low-risk way to put yourself out there,' Gauthier said. 'There's something really meaningful about having that book in your hands, and saying, 'I know the people who are there are going to enjoy talking about books, and that's going to give us a place to begin.'' That's exactly why Monique Findlayter started the Melanin Silent Reading Club, designed to be a 'safe space for BIPOC women to come together,' in February 2024. ARTICLE CONTINUES BELOW ARTICLE CONTINUES BELOW She had been reading Will Smith's memoir, in which he writes about going on a silent retreat. An avid reader who got into Bookstagram 'because none of my friends or family care about what I read,' Findlayter wondered if there might be a getaway centred around books. 'It's just the thought of being in a space where nobody is talking, and then adding books to that,' said the 43-year-old Findlayter, who runs her own cleaning company, 'where I can be in a space with other women and just read, knowing we're all here because of books.' Her initial search revealed options in the U.S., but nothing in Toronto. After two years and two failed attempts to get a retreat off the ground, an acquaintance sent her a Facebook post about a silent reading club. 'I did run a traditional book club 10 years ago that lasted about a year, but ... not everybody wants to read the book that's chosen; it feels like it's school having to finish by a certain date,' Findlayter said. 'So I thought, 'Yeah, I want to try this silent book club — but everybody can bring their own book.'' A dozen women attended the first meetup. 'It was absolutely amazing,' she said. 'Everybody bought their own book or a Kindle or listened to an audiobook. We met at a restaurant, chatted for a bit, and spent a portion of our time together reading.' The Melanin Silent Reading Club has been meeting regularly ever since — and, last October, they were finally able to go on that silent reading retreat. ARTICLE CONTINUES BELOW ARTICLE CONTINUES BELOW 'Six of us went to Muskoka for the weekend. We did more chatting than reading, but it was exactly what we needed,' Findlayter said. 'As women, especially Black women, it's just hard finding meaningful friendships out there. It's become more than just reading.' Finlayter also hosts a monthly 'reading sprint' on Zoom, where everyone reads together virtually for an hour and a half on a Saturday morning. The atmosphere when they are all silently reading together, she said, is peaceful. 'I know for myself, this is my only social gathering for the month. I'm a single mom, so I don't really have a lot of options to say, 'Hey, watch my daughter.' I make sure that once a month I find a babysitter, because this is my time.' There is also an official, trademarked Silent Book Club, founded in San Francisco in 2012, which boasts 1,500 chapters in 54 countries (including Canada), and whose members gather in bars, bookstores and libraries to read together quietly. One of the newest arrivals on the scene is the Toronto chapter of Reading Rhythms, a social-media-famous global organization that bills itself as 'a reading party' — a phrase they've trademarked — rather than a book club. With chapters in four countries and 20 cities (and a database of a 100,000 people requesting one in their own city), Reading Rhythms is probably best known for hosting one of these parties in New York's Times Square last year — at 6 a.m. ARTICLE CONTINUES BELOW ARTICLE CONTINUES BELOW The Toronto chapter had their very first event in March, a gathering at the Annex's Duke of York pub, whose $20 tickets quickly sold out. 'Their approach is to have a trained host to facilitate a curated experience for readers and hold readers accountable to come and read their book, but also connect with a community of readers,' said Jackie DaSilva, a 39-year-old campaign strategist and the Toronto chapter lead. 'It's that juxtaposition of 'reading' and 'party,' the introvert and the extrovert.' Every party follows the same format honed by the original New York chapter started in 2023: quiet reading time mixed with time to chat. 'It's giving people permission to talk to strangers,' DaSilva said. 'In Toronto … I don't think people are casually talking to people they don't know. We've become a lot more guarded and skeptical.' Reading Rhythms uses books as that opening conversational gambit: You might be encouraged to go up to someone who's reading a book you're intrigued by, or join a group revolving around a theme you gravitate to and begin chatting. One of DaSilva's favourite moments from the first event was seeing the pub basement fill up with people who didn't know one another, many of whom came alone. 'It was almost instantaneous that people started talking to each other,' she said, adding that at the end of that night, she was elated. 'I felt like it was the start of something really great.'
Toronto Star
05-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Toronto Star
After spending my teen years feeling like an outcast, I vowed to fit in at all costs. Then, a Toronto improv class pushed me out of my comfort zone — and into a new community
Better Friends Better Friends — part of our Toronto the Better project — is a yearlong series of risk-taking and new adventures. Every month, a Star staffer tries an activity that pushes them out of their comfort zone and into a group of new people: a swordplay class, a ballet lesson, improv. The goal: Make friends and feel more connected to Toronto. What do an engineer, an accountant, and a drag queen all have in common? Like me, a multimedia journalist at the Star, they signed up for a beginner improv class at Bad Dog comedy studio, a small theatre academy in the heart of Chinatown. As we waited for our first class to start that Tuesday night, eight of us — representing a variety of ages, gender expressions and backgrounds — sat wordlessly in a circle of folded chairs in the bright, white room. The silence was broken when our instructor Jenn burst into the room with a smile, and asked us all to introduce ourselves and share what inspired us to try improv. There was a U of T professor from Brazil who wanted to be a better teacher, an artist hoping to curb her perimenopause-induced brain fog, a 23-year-old computer scientist looking for a new hobby. ARTICLE CONTINUES BELOW As my turn approached, I noticed I was nervously wringing my hands as my heart pounded in my chest. It was a feeling I knew all too well. In fact, it was the reason I was here. 'Just be yourself, they'll love you!' my mother yelled from the car window as she dropped me off at my new school. I believed her — after all, I'd switched schools before and always managed to make friends. But this was the seventh grade, the brutal limbo between childhood and adolescence, and I was the eccentric new girl from out-of-province, wearing a Transformers T-shirt and cargo shorts. I never stood a chance. It went badly. So badly that within six months I transferred schools again. This time, I decided that being accepted was more important than being myself. I also vowed to avoid any social situation that would put me at risk for mass rejection ever again. Well, until I signed up for improv. After we had finished our introductions, Jenn started the class off by sharing the most important 'gift' we could give ourselves: to suspend all judgment. This was a good place to start, since we very quickly proceeded to make fools of ourselves. We took turns doing rapid-fire word associations, improvising interpretive dances, and butchering tongue twisters until my face hurt from laughing. We ended with a scene in which two classmates and I were accused of straightening all the paper clips in our imaginary middle school. 'Do you really think I've made anything more straight in my life?' retorted Andre, our resident drag queen. The class erupted with laughter, and we successfully evaded the charges. Over the next few classes, Jenn emphasized the importance of connecting with your scene partner: 'If you feel lost, you can often find the answer in your partner's eyes.' This was tough for me: I had long struggled to make eye contact, even before becoming a social pariah in high school. So when Jen introduced a game called 'mind meld' where we stared into each other's eyes and attempted to say the same word at the same time, I was nervous. The task seemed as impossible as it did uncomfortable. But to my surprise, after only a few rounds my partner Shakir and I got it on the second try. Perhaps poetically, the word was 'mirror.' McKenna Hart, surrounded by members of her improv class at Bad Dog comedy studio in Chinatown. Hart, McKenna Throughout, we were reminded of improv's golden rule: 'yes and,' which challenges actors to accept their partners' 'offerings' — no matter how outlandish — and build on to them to keep the scene afloat. In order to get comfortable saying yes, we played a game called 'Yes, let's!' where one person would propose an activity and the group would enthusiastically agree to act it out. 'Let's rob a bank!' rose a voice from the back of the room. 'Yes, let's!' the rest of us cheered, as we donned imaginary balaclavas and shovelled invisible wads of cash into bags. ARTICLE CONTINUES BELOW ARTICLE CONTINUES BELOW Still, the principle often proved harder to apply in a scene. After all, how could you use a VCR to stop a hurricane? Or what do you do when someone brings a cat to the Westminster dog show? It turns out that it's often easier to reject an idea than to figure out what to do with it, but also that the introduction of the unexpected creates the conditions for stories to emerge. Through these scenes, and Jenn's infectious appreciation of the art form, I started to understand that improv isn't just about being funny, it's about building a world with someone. After every class, I stopped for a solo drink at El Rey in Kensington Market to take notes on the day. After my third lesson (and second drink) I worked up the courage to strike up a conversation with the person next to me. What would have felt like an impossible feat only a few weeks before suddenly felt easy. In the Uber home, I had an epiphany. Ever since I was 12, I had been telling myself that people would always judge me for being myself. But what if I was the one judging them by assuming that? What if in my efforts to self-preserve, I had been closing myself off to a different story? And so, I decided to break my routine. After our last session, I invited all of my classmates to join me for a drink. To my delight, almost all of them said 'Yes, let's!' Toronto the Better I always wanted to be a medieval knight. When I took longsword classes with a group of wonderful weirdos, I followed my dream — and expanded my world Susan Kao As we sipped spicy margaritas, I looked around the crowded tables and smiled. A month ago all of us were strangers whose lives may have only ever intersected on an overcrowded streetcar car or in adjacent self-checkouts at a Shoppers Drug Mart. Yet here we were, sharing an evening where tales of terrible roommates and psychedelic frogs in South America flowed as freely as the tequila. In class, the collective agreement to remove judgment made that room feel like a sacred space, but we didn't need the classroom to connect; just permission to be ourselves. Trying something new is scary. Being vulnerable with strangers is even scarier. Taking an improv class forced me to do both, but it also showed me what magic can happen when we all agree — even for a few hours — to let go of judgment and be radically receptive. After all, isn't life just one extended improvisation? The least you can do is be a good scene partner.
