Bookshelves of Dust, Forest of Ash

In a world obsessed with growth, we still fell trees for books we rarely finish. We turn pages, but never the page on our habits. 

We often glorify reading and romanticize bookshelves, when in reality, fewer people are actually reading. To meet this desire, forests are sacrificed — or worse, erased entirely — just to produce the books that many will never open. The U.S. National Assessment of Educational Progress has documented a consistent decline in the number of 13-year-olds reading for leisure. In 2023, just 14% reported engaging in daily recreational reading, a significant decrease from 27% in 2012. Meanwhile, in the UK, a study conducted by the Reading Agency found that 50% of adults no longer read for enjoyment, with 15% never having done so and a troubling 35% who once read regularly but have since stopped.

This isn’t just a Western trend. In Indonesia, the problem is even more severe. According to UNESCO, Indonesia ranks second from the bottom in terms of global literacy, with reading interest at a staggering low — just 0.001%. That means, out of every 1,000 Indonesians, only one truly enjoys reading. In 2020, data from Indonesia’s Central Bureau of Statistics showed that just 10% of the population read daily. The reasons are many: the rise of digital content, shrinking attention spans, and a growing culture of performative reading.

Today, many of us buy books not to read them, but to display them — for social media, for aesthetics, for image. And then we leave them sitting on shelves: unopened, unread, and gathering dust. The irony lies here — we consume the idea of books more than their contents.

And yet, despite the decline in reading, books continue to be printed in massive numbers. Trees are still being cut, pages still pressed, covers still bound — all to produce something that, too often, ends up unopened. Each year, around 3.2 million trees are cut down to produce books worldwide. Isn’t it a disservice — to both nature and knowledge — when we let them go unread? When a tree gives its life to become a story, a poem, a lesson — and we don’t even turn the first page?

Every physical book sitting on a shelf began as something once alive: a tree that stood tall, rooted in soil, breathing carbon, offering shade — and ultimately, sacrificing its life to give us words that live in pages. But how dare we let that sacrifice — transformed into knowledge — go to waste? Dusty. Unread. Untouched. That tree gave its life not just to become paper, but to become part of your mind, your world, your growth.

It’s one thing to never want to own a book — maybe you never found the right one, maybe no one ever showed you why it mattered. But when that changes, when you begin to bring books into your space, let it be because you’re ready to read — not just to collect.

Because if we keep buying books only to abandon them on shelves, is it truly love for literature — or just an attachment to the idea of it?

Reading shouldn’t be something we are forced to do. It shouldn’t feel like a burden. Reading should be a quiet act of respect — for the authors, for the ideas, and for the trees themselves. To read is to listen. To understand. To turn pages and carry forward what someone, somewhere, worked hard to create — at nature’s expense.

So next time you pass by a bookshelf — or any place where books gather dust — ask yourself:

Which tree will I honor today?