My friend the book: How books transform solitude into strength

“When I think of all the books I still have to read, I am certain of being happy again.”
,  Jules Renard

There is something universal in this simple thought. Happiness suspended in unread pages, the promise that despite silence or absence, there is always a place to go without ever moving. In the face of solitude, some seek the crowd, while others turn to the quiet companionship of books. The book remains that longed-for refuge, a loyal friend always within reach.

Sometimes, silence settles in for no particular reason. Solitude arrives quietly, simply as a part of life. In those moments, opening a book becomes an easy, almost instinctive act. In reading, we join those who, before us, have walked through similar times. Their words accompany us silently, making the present feel fuller, more alive.

So why not grant yourself that moment? The moment of returning to a book, of sitting in its company, if only for a few pages. Sometimes, that’s all it takes for solitude to soften, for silence to be filled with a gentle presence. An open book is already an outstretched hand, perhaps a brief friendship, but one that leaves a lasting mark.

Alone by fate or design? Rethinking the human condition

Solitude. The word often echoes like an empty sound, a deserted space, almost unsettling. In our hyperconnected world, being alone seems almost abnormal, as if lacking immediate contact signals a social failure. However, solitude is a universal human condition, as old as thought itself.

There is the solitude we endure: emotional isolation after a breakup, marginalization, relational void. That kind wounds, it weighs heavy, it frightens.
But there is also the solitude we choose, sometimes instinctively, sometimes deliberately, as a voluntary retreat to recharge, reflect, or simply to exist differently, away from the noise.

For some, this inclination toward solitude is part of their very nature. They do not seek it out of escape or pain, but because they find a kind of harmony in it. Enjoying solitude is not a sign of illness; it is, at times, simply a way of being, an intimate preference for one’s own company, far from external distractions.

Philosophers from Montaigne to Nietzsche often saw solitude as a place of inner truth. “One must withdraw from the crowd,” said Seneca, “and find peace.” That peace, that calm, is what some call fertile solitude.

Modern research confirms this duality: a study by Nguyen, Ryan, and Deci (2018) shows that solitude is not necessarily a negative experience. In fact, when chosen, it acts as an emotional regulator: it tempers intense emotions, whether joyful or distressing, often leading to a state of deep relaxation. What matters is not being alone, but how one lives that solitude.

Reading together, alone: The quiet power of shared words

Reading is more than turning pages, it’s inhabiting a space, both internal and vast. For some, this space becomes an escape, a world where solitude takes on a different face.

Reading is often thought of as a solitary act, but it is also relational. A relationship with oneself, with others through words, and sometimes even, in certain contexts, with a silent community of readers.

In moments of deep vulnerability, this relational power of reading has come to light. Theater-style reading workshops for the elderly have gently eased isolation over time. Reading aloud, embodying a character, listening to others, these simple acts gave rise to a new sense of presence. These moments transformed a heavy solitude into quiet sharing, where each book became a pretext for connection. A recent study showed that shared readings significantly reduced feelings of loneliness in participants, as though words wove invisible yet strong bonds.

But reading does not always involve others. It can also be a solitary, chosen, and cherished companion. The writer Jean d’Ormesson often spoke of this, how, as a young man, he spent long hours alone in libraries or abroad, far from loved ones. Books were his confidants, his travel companions. He often said, “Books taught me never to be truly alone.”

For him, reading was not an escape, but a quiet joy, an art of being alone without truly being so. Reading placed him in constant dialogue with the world, past and present. Time spent within the pages becomes a bridge, sometimes to others, sometimes to oneself.

Writers and the edge of silence: Creating from solitude

For writers, solitude is no luxury. It is often a harsh necessity, a confrontation with oneself that nothing can soften, except reading. Not passive reading, but immersion, confrontation. For them, reading means crossing into worlds beyond control, facing their own flaws, and those revealed by stories.

Marcel Proust, confined to his room, lived this tension. Solitude weighed on him as much as it sustained him. He often wrote at night, tormented by physical pain and emotional intensity that only reading could sometimes soothe. Through reading, he captured the brilliance of unseen things, the murmur of the world heard only in silence. He did not seek solitude; he surrendered to it, for it was the only place where memory could emerge unspoiled. Through books, he prolonged fleeting moments, anchoring them in time.

For Proust, reading was more than distraction, it was a faithful presence in isolation, a silent friendship he embraced openly: “Reading is a friendship.”

This friendship was essential, giving him the momentum to discover corners of his mind that solitude alone, without direction, made hard to reach.
The book was not a substitute for others but a means for an inner journey that human company could not offer. “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”

Reading is an exercise in seeing differently, on oneself and on what others have expressed through words. In solitude, this reading becomes a delicate instrument: it reveals what we have yet to know, illuminating silence, not to break it, but to give it meaning.

And sometimes, solitude does not reveal a unified self but summons multiple identities, fragmented views of the world. Fernando Pessoa, a Portuguese poet of the early 20th century, lived this experience to the brink.

Pessoa was one of the greatest explorers of the human soul and a devoted companion of solitude. In his writings, he did not speak with one voice. He invented what he called heteronyms, imaginary authors, each with their own biography, style, and worldview. These were not mere masks but parallel lives, nurtured as carefully as his own. Perhaps it was his way of filling the silence, populating solitude with kindred spirits born from himself.

For Pessoa, solitude was more than a state, it was a destiny. He did not flee its torments; he wrote them, he read them. He fed on that lack of bearings, that existential drift he translated into poetry. Reading, for him, was also a dialogue with his multiple “selves,” those inner figures inhabiting his mind. His solitude was not peaceful, it was crowded with doubts, but he found in books a space where these uncertainties could exist without shame.

Thus, solitude wears many faces. For some, it is a fragile space filled with silences to be tamed. For others, it is movement, inner agitation, and a procession of faces and thoughts to be understood and sometimes restrained.

But along both paths, opposite yet intimate, reading remains a courageous act: the act of confronting what one carries within, whether forgotten memories or as yet unknown voices.

If these writers found in books a way to inhabit their solitude, perhaps it’s because they understood that reading always means stepping into an uncertain space, one where you are never entirely alone, nor quite the same.

Rethinking solitude: Reading, well-being, and perception

Raw solitude spares no one. It sometimes imposes itself as a burden, an emptiness that nothing fills. But it is not fixed. What we do with it, what we think of it, can change the experience itself. Learning to see differently, this is what reading offers. Not to deny absence, but to inhabit it differently.

Today, thanks to certain studies, we know that our perception of solitude can shift, and with it, the emotions that arise. A study by Rodriguez, Pratt, Bellet, and McNally (2023) showed that when solitude is reimagined as a beneficial experience, it becomes more bearable, even a source of serenity. Participants exposed to solitude’s benefits reported fewer negative emotions and greater inner calm, even in isolation.

Reading plays a subtle but vital role here. Immersing oneself in a book detaches us from society’s gaze on solitude, we stop experiencing it as a stigma. Silence is no longer seen as lack, but as openness. Each turned page proves that meaning can be found in retreat, that apparent emptiness hides a space full of potential.

There is no need to fear solitude. Many, with a book in hand, have crossed it, understood it, and emerged stronger. Reading is not an escape, but a strength. It gives words to what we feel, offers horizons when everything seems to close in. Those who read learn to stand firm, as each book sharpens the eye, turning it toward what enlightens and fortifies. Every page read is proof that solitude can be borne, tamed, and at times, even loved. Opening a book is to equip oneself to remain upright, even when the world retreats. It is to enter a silent dialogue from which one emerges, if not changed, at least more whole.

No book will ever take another’s place, it holds its own, discreet and loyal. It offers a constant presence, that of a silent friend, always there, unconditionally.

This friendship is not measured in words exchanged, but in the paths traveled together. Reading is walking alongside a companion who knows silence, shares it, and with every page, extends a hand.

There is no solitude where books keep watch.

References

Cantisano, N., et al. (2024). Effect of dramatised reading workshops on older people with neurocognitive disorders. Sommet mondial des innovations sociales. https://univ-tlse2.hal.science/hal-04718617/

Nguyen, T., Ryan, R. M., & Deci, E. L. (2018). Solitude as an approach to affective self-regulation. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 44(1), 92–106.

Rodriguez, M., Pratt, S., Bellet, B. W., & McNally, R. J. (2023). Solitude can be good—If you see it as such: Reappraisal helps lonely people experience solitude more positively. Journal of Personality.

Sun, H., & Schafer, M. H. (2022). Cognitively engaging solitary activities: Another layer of protection against loneliness. Innovation in Aging, 6(Suppl_1), 231–232.