How We Engage with Texts Over Time

Some things demand only one read. We only need to engage with a breaking news article or an airport sign once. We absorb the information, process it, and move on. But for more complex works (say, a novel, a film, a painting, or even a piece of music), the experience changes depending on how many times we engage with it.

I call the first time someone interacts with a work “the first read.” It’s the rawest and most immediate way of experiencing something. You read a book once, you watch a movie once, or you stand in front of a painting for a few minutes, and that’s it. And because the majority of engagement with most creative works happens at this level, artists, writers, and filmmakers have to think about how their work lands on a first read. If the goal is to captivate, motivate, or provoke thought, then the message must cut through even when an audience spends only a single moment with it. The first read is where suspense, emotional punch, and gut reactions live. It’s where people decide whether they care.

And then there’s what I call the “learned read” (drawing from the phrase “learned professions”). This happens when we return to something again and again, and we discover more each time. Certain works are designed for this. Intricate novels, dense films, and layered paintings reveal more of themselves over time. The learned read rewards patience. It lets us notice the details we missed, helps uncover subtext, and allows us to see how our own evolving perspectives shape the way we interpret meaning. It’s less about reaction and more about contemplation.

Here’s where things get tricky. There’s research suggesting that the brain actually likes “spoilers.” Wait! Don’t stop reading. Hear me out on this. I know you will likely and instinctively tell me that you hate spoilers. We are, understandably awash in spoiler alerts these days. And I totally get it!

But knowing how something ends allows us to relax into the experience. It allows us to pick up on details we might otherwise miss. That’s fascinating because it clashes with the way we think about surprise. We love twists, suspense, and the thrill of the unknown…but we also appreciate the depth and comfort of familiarity. This inevitably creates a tension for artists. Should they design for the first read, and craft for an immediate impact? Or should they prioritize the learned read, and trust that their audience will come back and be willing to engage more deeply?

Most people won’t engage with a text multiple times, and I understand why. Life is short and we haven’t got a lot of time. And yet, this makes me wonder whether artists ought to structure their work differently with the knowledge they may only have one shot. Or should they create work that rewards those who choose to return, even if that means some nuance gets lost on first engagement? And does it matter who the audience is? Should a film critic, for example, be expected to pull everything they need from a single viewing, while a casual viewer can afford to miss the layers? I don’t know.

What I do know is that it’s worth paying attention to how we engage with creative works. The first read will always be important because it’s the hook, the emotional weight, the thing that grabs us. But the learned read is where depth and transformation happen. So the next time you finish a book, a movie, or even a song, I urge you to ask yourself what you took away from the experience. And, more importantly, ask yourself what you might see if you came back…