My work at Teen Read Institute involves exploring how reading behaviour can be improved and the ways in which we can support young people to read regularly. I like to strip things back when I’m trying to understand something, and recently this got me thinking about what it actually means to read.
A great deal of excellent work has gone into understanding the science of reading. We now know that a number of things need to come together for successful reading to happen: phonological awareness, phonemic awareness, decoding, word recognition, fluency, vocabulary knowledge, prior knowledge, working memory, linguistic awareness… the list goes on. We have become increasingly sophisticated in our understanding of how children learn to read. But how much do we really understand about what reading feels like to them?
What actually happens in the mind of a reader? Why does a story make one person emote freely and another feel absolutely nothing? Why can some people become completely absorbed in a fictional world while others struggle to connect with it at all? And, perhaps most importantly, does the way we experience reading influence whether we choose to do it again?
This brings me to an aspect of psychology that has fascinated me for some time: aphantasia. Aphantasia describes the inability, or significantly reduced ability, to voluntarily create mental images in the mind. For example, if someone with aphantasia is asked to imagine a beach, they may understand perfectly well what a beach looks like and be able to describe it in detail, but they cannot actually see an image of it in their mind. Aphantasia is not a learning difficulty or a sign of poor imagination. People with aphantasia can still be creative, enjoy fiction and understand complex descriptions. They can understand and appreciate a story without mentally visualising its characters, settings or events. I’m fascinated by this for many reasons, but particularly because it resonates with something I’ve heard repeatedly throughout my teaching career.
Over the years, I’ve listened to countless young people trying to explain why they don’t enjoy reading. Often, they struggle to articulate exactly what it is that isn’t working for them. Sometimes it’s: ‘I’m just not in it’, ‘I don’t get it.’ or ‘I can’t picture it in my head’. As teachers, we recognise these responses, but I wonder how often we really explore what young people mean by them.
Increasingly, I’ve begun to wonder whether what might appear to be an arbitrary rejection of books could sometimes be connected to the way they experience stories in their minds. Of course, there are countless reasons why young people disengage from reading. Difficulty with decoding, limited vocabulary, previous negative experiences, competing interests and a lack of reading confidence can all play a part. I’m certainly not suggesting that aphantasia explains reading reluctance.
But I am interested in the relationship between visualisation, immersion and reader identity. If a young person encounters a text full of rich description and figurative language, but doesn’t experience the mental images that others describe, does that change their relationship with the story? And if they repeatedly hear that reading should transport them to another world, but that isn’t what happens for them, could it eventually influence the way they see themselves as a reader?
Research into aphantasia raises some interesting questions about the relationship between mental imagery and our engagement with stories. In a 2025 study, Noha Abdelrahman, David Melcher and Pablo Ripollés explored how individuals with aphantasia and those with typical mental imagery experienced stories presented through audio and video. Using the Narrative Engagement Questionnaire (NEQ), developed by Busselle and Bilandzic (2009), the researchers examined different aspects of narrative engagement, including the sense of presence within a story and engagement with its characters. They found that participants with aphantasia reported a significantly lower sense of presence across both formats. In other words, they were less likely to experience the feeling of being immersed in the world of the story. They also reported lower levels of engagement with characters.
At first glance, this might seem to support the idea that mental imagery plays an important role in our ability to connect with fictional worlds. But the findings become particularly interesting when we look at reading enjoyment. Despite these differences in immersion, participants with aphantasia reported reading similar numbers of novels each year and rated their reading proficiency similarly to those without aphantasia. This aligns with findings from Speed et al. (2024), who found no significant differences in how much people with and without aphantasia liked or appreciated stories. So, while mental imagery may contribute to certain aspects of narrative engagement, its absence does not necessarily prevent someone from understanding or enjoying fiction.
The research doesn’t tell us that young people with aphantasia are more likely to become reluctant readers. It also doesn’t establish that difficulties with visualisation cause disengagement from reading. Much of this research has involved adults, and we should be cautious about applying the findings directly to children and adolescents. What it does suggest, however, is that people can experience stories in different ways, and that immersion, enjoyment and comprehension are not necessarily the same thing. Perhaps visualisation is just one route into a story and as a result, perhaps the way we typically describe the experience of reading is too narrow. And perhaps we need to become more curious about what is actually happening in the minds of the young people we teach.
Imagine asking a group of young people to read a description of a forest. One might create a vivid mental picture, complete with towering trees, shifting light and the sound of leaves underfoot. Another might experience a particular atmosphere or emotional response without seeing any images at all. A third might focus on the language, the information being communicated or the significance of the setting within the story. All three could understand the text. All three could appreciate it. And all three could be reading successfully. Yet I wonder how often we make space for young people to recognise and discuss these differences.
In classrooms, we frequently ask students to visualise what they’re reading. We encourage them to create pictures in their minds and imagine themselves in the world of a story. For many students, this may be a valuable strategy. But what happens when a young person cannot do that, or doesn’t naturally experience reading in that way? It’s possible they might begin to assume they’re doing something wrong. They may think that other people possess some ability to enjoy books that they simply don’t have. And that perception could influence their confidence and identity as a reader.
I wonder whether we should be more explicit in teaching young people about the different ways in which our minds can respond to texts. Rather than assuming everyone experiences reading similarly, perhaps we should ask them. Do you see pictures? Do you hear a voice? Do you feel something? Do you focus on the events, the ideas or the characters? Does your experience change depending on what you’re reading? These are conversations I’d like to explore further through Teen Read Institute.
Because if we want young people to develop positive reading identities, surely part of that process involves helping them understand their own experience of reading and recognising that there isn’t just one correct way to experience a book. Which brings me to what I think is an important point. I am concerned that we, as practitioners, might be too narrow in our understanding of what successful reading should feel like. We spend a great deal of time encouraging young people to read for pleasure. We tell them that books can transport them to other worlds, that they can lose themselves in a story, that reading is magical and for many readers, that is absolutely true. What about those who don’t experience it like that? What happens when a young person repeatedly hears how wonderful reading should feel, but their own experience doesn’t match? Do they begin to believe that reading simply isn’t for them? Maybe that disconnect gradually become part of their identity. I wonder whether, in our enthusiasm to promote reading for pleasure, we sometimes unintentionally create expectations that not all young people can relate to.
This isn’t an argument against reading for pleasure. Far from it. Reading enjoyment is something we should absolutely nurture and celebrate, but perhaps we also need to acknowledge that reading doesn’t always have to be pleasurable to be worthwhile. Reading can inform us, challenge us, surprise us, help us understand others and allow us to make sense of the world. It can satisfy our curiosity, answer questions, develop our thinking or provide a sense of achievement. It can be rewarding without necessarily being enjoyable. Sometimes it can simply be something we do because we recognise its value. I think this distinction is particularly important for young people who have already decided that reading isn’t for them. If their understanding of being a reader is based on the idea that they should love books, become absorbed in fictional worlds and experience reading as an enjoyable escape, they may feel that they simply don’t belong.
At Teen Read Institute, I’m increasingly interested in how these conversations might change the way young people see themselves as readers. Before we can change reading behaviour, perhaps we need to understand the reading experience.
Before we can help a young person become a reader, perhaps we need to stop assuming we know what being a reader should feel like.
Research referenced:
Abdelrahman, N., Melcher, D. and Ripollés, P. (2025). Research on aphantasia and narrative engagement. Psychophysiology, 62(7), e70100.
Busselle, R. and Bilandzic, H. (2009). Measuring narrative engagement. Media Psychology, 12(4), 321–347.
Speed et al. (2024). Research exploring aphantasia and responses to stories. Full bibliographic details to be confirmed.