My First Silent Reading Event
- Leanne Johnson
- 2 days ago
- 4 min read
From Cape Town envy to platteland magic, a first-time Silent Reading event reveals the joy of reading alone, together. A quiet hour. A good book. A group of people who understand the pull of the page. This personal reflection focuses on a global movement, how it reached Montagu, and why it matters.
I'm sure I'm not alone in reading a travel blog, or pausing mid-scroll when an event flashes past on social media, wishing I were in Cape Town. A lot happens in the Mother City, especially for book lovers. Two events that recently caught my literary eye were the promotion of Silent Book Club chapters across the city, and the SBC Reading on Track experience — a train ride from Rondebosch to Kalk Bay filled with lectiophiles.
And then, in a way, my wish came true.
Not by landing up in Cape Town, but by attending a Silent Reading event in our very own platteland town.
The fairy godmother in this case was Anne from the Montagu Bookshop, who keeps her fingers firmly on the pulse of the literary world and organised an inaugural Silent Reading Hour at The Quarter — an inspired idea for January.
What felt particularly special was the freedom to sample a new author, thanks to the generosity of Montagu Bookshop, which allowed attendees to spread their literary wings without the expectation of buying a book.
It wasn’t so much the novelty of the event that intrigued me, but rather the permission it offered. An invitation (and challenge) to sit with a book without multitasking, without distractions, without interruption, without explanation, and without the low-level guilt that often accompanies reading for pleasure. In a world that measures time in productivity, an hour devoted solely to silent reading felt almost radical.
I think all of us first-timers arrived with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. But the whole point of these events is no pressure and no expectations.
Walking into The Quarter on a Friday at dusk, I expected silence - a formal hush. What I didn’t expect was how companionable it would feel: a relaxed space where people moved chairs to favourite spots, settled down on picnic blankets, and arranged cushions just so.
Let the reading begin
In a small town, events tend to be social by default. We gather to talk, to catch up, to drink coffee, to volunteer, to explain ourselves. A Silent Reading event gently upended that expectation.
There was no icebreaker, no agenda, no announcements, and no need to be anything other than present.
Everything unfolded organically. No one rang a bell to mark the start of the hour - it simply happened. Books were opened, cellphones were stashed away, and pages began to turn. Time seemed to slow as we each escaped into different worlds and walked in our characters’ shoes.
There was a shared understanding that this hour was not about performing our love of books, but simply practising it. A group of people alone together, bound not by conversation but by concentration.
The best part? You could actually hear people read.
As the hour marched on, I became acutely aware of how rare this kind of collective quiet is — especially in a place where everyone “knows” everyone. The silence was not awkward or empty; it was generous. It made space for stories on the page, but for our own unspoken thoughts too.
60 minutes of quality time with a book
As I settled into my book - Barbara Townsend’s childhood memoir, The Colour of Flying - I realised how fragmented my reading habits have become. Pages are often interrupted by notifications, random thoughts, or the pull of something else that needs doing - by a brain that has grown lax when it comes to focusing on just one thing.
That evening, the absence of interruption felt unfamiliar at first — and then deeply comforting.
Scattered thoughts were replaced by immersion in the words on the page, and the temptation to reach for my phone or check the time was replaced by a renewed trust in my own attention span.
It was reassuring to know that, for an hour, no one expected anything from me except stillness. Only my book of choice required my attention.
The best conversation starter
Even without icebreakers or a set agenda, once books were closed, there was an almost instinctive desire to share. Walking up to a stranger and asking what they were reading seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
As books introduced themselves, phones reappeared - snapping photos or adding titles to Goodreads “want to read” lists. (The irony is not lost on me that a cellphone had to make an appearance at this stage.)
What others were reading sparked easy conversations about literature, personal experiences, and the impact books have had on our lives.
The literary camaraderie that emerged felt both effortless and genuine — rooted in a shared love for books and reading.
The spell of the evening had us leaving with lighter steps, longer reading lists, and the sense of having been part of something meaningful.
Great ideas travel well - even to a small town
What began in 2012 as a bright idea between two friends in a San Francisco coffee shop — and grew into a global movement — found its way to a small town on Route 62 in January ’26.
Nicknamed “happy hour for introverts,” a Silent Reading event challenges the notion that connection must always be loud, verbal, or performative.
For me, the evening highlighted just how accustomed we are to doing things on our own, even in our leisure. What made the experience feel different was the balance it struck: reading quietly in your own space, while still feeling part of something collective.
I’ll probably still pause mid-scroll when literary events in Cape Town pop up on my social media feed, but the Montagu Bookshop’s first Silent Reading experiment reminded me that you don’t need a big city or a fancy setup to have a really good bookish experience. Sometimes all it takes is a book, an hour of quiet, and a gathering of people who get it.
Written by Leanne Johnson