Owning books has become a matter of taste. Perhaps we ought to discuss the cost of continuing to produce them.
BookTok emerged as a phenomenon at some point in 2020. Or perhaps it had already become a thing before that and I simply became aware of it in 2020. In any case, all of a sudden people started appearing on camera to discuss the books they were reading. Or the books they claimed they were reading. We will never know whether they actually were reading all those books. The internet has many uses, but it is not one of them a trustworthy witness. Next came Bookstagram, shelfies, book hauls, reading challenges, colour-coded bookshelves and the general notion that merely being a reader was no longer sufficient. You also had to look as if you were a person who owns and reads a lot of books – you had to display your collection of books and proclaim yourself to be a tsundoku.
On the contrary, my purpose is not to judge the books that people read. If I had anything to say about the quality of the novels that are currently popular online, I could use the following few paragraphs to talk about the hot and steamy romantic novels which you can finish in one afternoon and then count as number 300 in your annual reading challenge. But that would be unreasonable of me.
When I was a child, digital versions of the books that we liked were almost unavailable and we couldn’t afford to buy many books, yet we still managed to read. How did we do this? By sharing our books with one another. Each person would buy a book and then share it with all the rest of them. One book could go around the whole class while another one was also circulating. I do, however, think that this might not be a very good idea from the point of view of the authors, the publishers and the book sellers.
Let me now discuss something else: the physical book itself. For example, the fine hardcover book lying on your bedside table, the one with a nice cover that fits in with the décor of your room, the one you bought because everyone was talking about it, photographed it, placed it on your shelf and have not opened since. Public libraries and second-hand book exchanges provided a solution for people who couldn’t afford the new editions. This sense of community also meant that a single print run could cater to a number of readers. Today, it can seem as though asking to borrow a book is like asking for a new car; suddenly everyone has never stained their books and has returned every book they borrowed in due time and condition. At the same time, publishers and retailers have increased their efforts to sell more copies (usually new ones). The outcome has been that book ownership has changed from being about practical literacy to becoming a form of conspicuous consumption.
For many people who want to read, it is simply not possible to buy every new book. It is uncommon for an average family to buy dozens of hardback books each year; most people get their books from libraries, by borrowing e-books or by purchasing used books. In a recent debate on X, some people said that it is reasonable to share digital copies (or even to pirate them) if one cannot afford the new releases. Others, however, regarded this as theft. Nevertheless, it is true that access to books these days usually involves either having to own expensive hardbacks that one may never get round to reading or going the digital route. This situation is bad for serious readers on a low income. Moreover, it hides the real environmental impact: for those who do buy books, the amount of carbon emissions and use of resources increases.
People who enjoy books take pleasure in the physical experience of smelling the brown paper of printed books – especially the rich, solid hardcover ones, which are neatly arranged and ideal for the kind of photos posted on Bookstagram. However, this trend has a dark aspect: the greater number of books being produced leads to more trees being felled and more greenhouse gases being released. Ironically, even though the Internet has turned physical books into a popular and stylish item, it has not caused people to read more and hasn’t made books any cheaper for those who truly value them. On the contrary, as the habit of collecting new books is on the rise (even when they are never actually read), our traditional ways of sharing or borrowing books are disappearing. This has important implications for the climate. The book publishing industry that relies on paper and ink is a long way from being environmentally sound: each year the production of books in the United States releases millions of tonnes of CO₂ and wastes forests. We can both appreciate literature and care for the planet only if we acknowledge the reality of how books are made.
Although print books may have a friendly and innocent appearance, their production is industrial in nature. A recent analysis has shown that the U.S. book industry produces around 12.4 million metric tonnes of CO₂ each year — a figure equivalent to the annual emissions of about 1.3 million cars. On average, each printed book results in the emission of about 8.9 pounds (4 kg) of carbon, which is roughly the same as the weight of the book itself. About 75% of these emissions come from the production of paper. To put it simply, the manufacture of books involves the cutting down of forests: more than 30 million trees are felled every year in the United States alone just for books. (If newspapers are included, the figure rises to about 125 million trees per year.) The printing of both books and newspapers is estimated to generate 153 billion gallons of wastewater each year. Paper products also make up about 26% of the waste dumped in U.S. landfills. A life-cycle study revealed that 400,000 paperback books produce about 1,084 tonnes of carbon dioxide per book. Another estimate suggests that the average paperback amounts to around 3 kg of carbon dioxide. The exact figures do vary depending on the type of paper and the print run (hardcover books and those with colour artwork can be even heavier), but they are nevertheless striking: a new novel could be equivalent in terms of carbon emissions to a short car journey.
I am not saying that books shouldn’t exist since literature does play an important role in everyday life. However, as the number of books being bought has increased (with more than four million new titles appearing in the U.S. in 2025), we ought to consider whether every book has to be in physical form. The publishing industry has grown enormously because of digital self-publishing tools. A modern book lover may end up with dozens of titles that have never been read, and a lot of young readers feel that they have to buy books just in order to fit in online. While book marketing sees owning the newest novel as a mark of prestige, the market is negatively affected by this.
The pleasure derived from books is beyond measure – we ought to promote reading for enjoyment and for the sake of knowledge. At the same time, we should challenge the cultural expectation that books be treated as commodities. It would be possible to develop a more sustainable reading culture.
Above all, this is not about blaming casual book readers or influencers. Our aim should be to encourage a two-way exchange. All of us – authors, publishers, retailers, and readers – have a share of responsibility. The right question to ask is whether a love of books can go hand in hand with concern for the environment? We could reverse the current attitude: it should be just as fashionable to lend one’s favourite book, to re-read classic works, or to display a single book cover as it is to collect every new release. In that way, we will show our respect for both the stories we read and the forests that make those stories possible.
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