Why men don't join book clubs

One man among 30 to 50 attendees: anatomy of a book club

In a podcast listening club organized in three sessions, with between 30 and 50 attendees each time, only one man showed up. This is not an official statistic: it is the case that journalist Ana Ribera García-Rubio puts on the table in an article published on May 18, 2024, in which she tries to answer a question she is asked insistently: why there are no men in book clubs, listening clubs, book presentations, or creative retreats.

The writers she consults answer immediately: "there are only women." Another friend who organized a creative retreat: only women. A friend with a master's in content creation: only women. With these materials, the author admits it is not science, but she maintains that there is a pattern.

Margaret Atwood's clue and the answer no one expected

The first diagnosis relies on a phrase by Margaret Atwood: "Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them." The second half, she writes, is true as a temple. The first could also be true: the club forces you to expose what you have thought and there, she says, ridicule lurks.

The hypothesis holds until the interested parties are asked. Ribera probes almost all the men who cross her life, people who read, listen to podcasts, and have conversation. The answer is always the same: no. And upon insisting, the reason: "I'm not interested". Without mincing words. When pressed further, the variant appears: "I don't care what others think."

The conclusion, cooked over a meal with good wine, is that a man considers the book finished when he finishes it. He forms an opinion, good or bad, and does not feel the need to share it, contrast it, or expand it with others. He does not expect to learn anything from others' reading.

"Reading is an activity done for oneself"

The responses collected abound in the same thing, with different formulations. One of them: reading is an activity done for oneself, not for socializing. The idea of submitting to the reading that someone else has decided—the basic operation of any club—is read as a renunciation of choosing the next title.

Some add that they do not need to talk about it. "In my case, I enjoy a good book, I don't need to tell everyone for hours that I've read it and prove to the rest that I remember the story better than they do," summarizes one comment. Another puts it bluntly: a man does not have the need to validate his reading; he assumes it and that's it.

To that disinterest is added a trait cited several times: the ability to be silent comfortably. The so-called "nothing box" theory, popularized by speaker Mark Gungor, describes a male brain organized in watertight compartments and with a box reserved for not thinking about absolutely anything. Two men can share after-dinner conversation in silence without either interpreting it as a problem.

Is going to a book club reading or socializing?

Here is the most uncomfortable point. A good part of the responses maintain that the book club has little to do with reading and much to do with conversation. The book serves as an excuse to spend the afternoon in a group. And that, it is argued, is a need that is met in another way in the male case.

The anecdote that best illustrates it came from a gentlemen's club: a guest thought to ask for beer and the waiter, offended, reminded him that only sparkling water or sherry is served there. Hence the recurring joke: serve beer in book clubs to see if someone shows up. The reply from the most ironic sector: that is also a cliché, and clichés say a lot.

Another argument, less kind: the roundtable format and shared opinion does not engage because there is no hierarchy, no objective, nothing to conquer.

Men do go when the book is theirs

The article introduces a twist that is hard to refute. Men do not go to comment on others' work, but they do attend when the work is theirs. Authors who visit clubs set up around their own books and podcasters who meet with their listeners: there they go, first for promotion, second because they are not on equal footing with the rest. What they think about their work is a step above. Participating is a toll of success.

The second paradox is about power distribution. Until recently, almost all literary, music, and film criticism was in the hands of men. Women are making room in the small group of voices whose opinion on a cultural product is considered authoritative, while they continue to be an overwhelming majority as readers. Fewer chairs on the panel, more books at home.

The bias of looking only at the book club

The issue intersects with another: labeling. If only women go, it is assumed that what is discussed there is "women's stuff." Several men confessed to believing that in those groups only trivial bestsellers are discussed, and some illustrated it with the Planeta prizes. When it was explained to them that there are clubs of all kinds, even about history or politics podcasts, they looked in disbelief and continued without interest. No one said it out loud; according to the author, everyone thought that was women's business, and none wanted to acknowledge the bias.

There are also those who deflect with other spaces: chess clubs, gyms, boxing or martial arts classes where male presence is overwhelming.

From "it's sad" to the scolding

The reaction was not uniform. Some acknowledged, uncomfortably, that the honest answer was that: "I wish I could give you another answer," said some of those interviewed, "it's sad, yes, but if I told you otherwise I'd be lying." Others hit back: the text was accused of starting from a prejudice against men, of turning an anecdote into a diagnosis, and of reproaching an absence without providing any statistic that measures it. The only survey handled with ease is the reading habits one, and that measures gender, not club attendance.

With that material, the issue remains in uncomfortable territory: the pattern can be observed, not quantified. And without quantifying it, each hypothesis weighs as much as the person who launches it.

Where the analysis gets stuck

The conversation ended up drifting toward other wars: what men and women read—mystery and thriller rule in both cases, with James Ellroy and Don Winslow versus Dolores Redondo—, literary tourism, which moves a relevant percentage of travelers, and from there to religious and societal model discussions that have little to do with the starting issue.

No one has closed the initial question. Disinterest, antiestéticar of others' judgment, or simple lack of habit? The article itself provides the only statistic it cites and leaves it half-done: women read more than men. If that gap does not by itself explain the absence, there is also no data that fully explains it.