I must be doing something wrong

Slate has an piece up this morning about a book of essays by Zadie Smith. Smith apparently has much to say about why and how we ought to read novels. This is apparently a common problem:

This problem will strike many people as familiar. We fall into a novel on the subway, enjoy a magazine short story in the bath, or tear through 60 pages before falling asleep in one of Borders' very comfortable chairs—all without ever wondering whether we're reading properly.

Strangely enough, no, I have never wondered if I was reading properly. I can't begin to imagine why we'd worry about it.

I was assigned to read an essay about how we should read in university. It was written by Nabokov. It was stupid.