The demise of good books
BookTok has and continues to mould the literary world.
Open BookTok – or any book-themed corner or social media – next to a friend. Chances are, you’ll see videos promoting the exact same books, divering only by in influencer flair or corny hook; a rotation of “Books that altered my worldview”, “You have to read this” or “Novels that left me in pieces”. It’s repetitive and yet undeniably hypnotising.
I acknowledge the good BookTok has done. The promotion of reading on social media has helped revitalise young people to rediscover their love for reading. It has created communities to encourage reading, share recommendations, and foster discussion. These are all things we want in the world of literature. However, there is a deeper issue at the root of this phenomenon that makes me reconsider BookTok’s "positive" impacts.
My qualm with BookTok is twofold. First, the stagnation beyond shallow level excitement and engagement with books. A reader picks up a book by, let’s say, Colleen Hoover. It’s gripping. It’s a quick and easy read. They want to read more. So they reach for another book that ts the mould, this time by by Ali Hazelwood. On paper, the plot is different. But upon closer inspection, the style and the tropes – enemies-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, accidental romance – are the same. A different font for the same brainrot.
While reading should no doubt be for enjoyment, it should also function to challenge our perspectives and expand our understanding of the world. The fundamental nature of TikTok is to create an algorithm that magni fies what we already know. How do we go beyond the trappings of our knowledge echo chambers if we are being fed the same predictable content?
My second problem with BookTok is its reshaping of the literary landscape towards hyper-consumption, much like the fast-fashion industry. Books are being turned into addictive commodities, loaded with repetitive ideas. They no longer imbibe a profound social truth, instead stimulating us with the instant grati cation of either nishing a book or mass consuming media.
As author Leigh Stein pointed out in her LitHub piece "BookTok is Good, Actually", BookTok has a captive audience that makes it an ideal place for new authors to break into. What remains implicit in the article, however, is that BookTok is only a good platform if you conform to its gimmicks. The platform rewards a speci fic formula to gain readers’ attention, and authors who attempt to gain traction outside these parameters often find themselves stifled by the demands of a trend-driven marketplace.
The result is a dilution of original, creative material. This recalls themes in Yellowface – a novel that ironically blew up on BookTok – giving insight into how authors play into the desperation of remaining relevant in the harshness of the publishing industry.
While the commodification of books may not seem so dire, it coincides with a worrying trend in education: literature is being pushed out from classrooms. Classic novels such as To Kill a Mockingbird are being banned, and while this isn’t directly related to BookTok, it reflects a wider cultural shift. When we take away the demands of patience, analysis, and a search for deeper meaning in art, we remain firmly within our intellectual comfort zone. Without these qualities, we are even more likely to fall victim to the mind-numbing, shallow algorithms of BookTok.
I don’t say this from a place of moral superiority or to criticise anyone who genuinely enjoys such recommendations. Rather, I want to reflect on how social media and broader society is destroying our attention spans, interests, and the way we consume all forms of media.
BookTok is fun and easy and enjoyable. But that, in itself, is my problem with it. The increase in reading means nothing to me if what’s being read is, in essence, literary fast food. It feels we have reached a crossroad. It’s time to question whether we are using literature to open our minds or stay entertained in an endless loop of forgettable stories.
