Bookstreaming might be the wake-up call

By Noel Galon de Leon

The latest National Book Development Board (NBDB) National Readership Survey confirmed what educators, librarians, and parents have long feared: fewer Filipinos are reading books for leisure. While literacy remains a concern, it is no longer the only crisis confronting the country. Inflation continues to burden Filipino families, classrooms remain overcrowded, learning losses from the pandemic continue to haunt students, and digital distractions compete relentlessly for every spare minute of a young person’s attention. Here in Iloilo, these realities are impossible to ignore. Visit any jeepney terminal, café, university corridor, or shopping mall, and almost everyone is looking at a phone. Yet very few are holding a book. Reading, once considered an ordinary pastime, has quietly become an exception rather than the norm. Against this backdrop, a new phenomenon emerging online raises an intriguing question. Could bookstreaming—the practice of livestreaming reading sessions and literary discussions—be one of the unexpected tools capable of rebuilding a reading culture that seems to be slipping away? The idea is worth examining, especially after reading Millie Ramm’s thought-provoking article, Could Bookstreaming Be the Answer to the Literacy Crisis?, published by Bookish Lifestyle through 1000 Libraries Magazine, which inspired this reflection.

At first glance, bookstreaming sounds almost absurd. Why would anyone spend two or three hours watching another person read a book? For decades, reading has been considered one of the most private activities imaginable, something done in silence, away from crowds, cameras, and conversations. Livestreaming transformed almost everything else before it reached books. People watched strangers cook meals, build computers, solve math problems, paint landscapes, and even sleep. Reading seemed like the last hobby that would ever become entertainment. Yet platforms such as X, TikTok LIVE, and YouTube have proven that audiences are not merely consuming books through these streams—they are participating in them. Viewers react to plot twists in real time, discuss characters through live chat, ask questions about unfamiliar words, recommend titles, and continue conversations long after the stream has ended. The experience transforms reading from an isolated activity into a communal event, something closer to joining a virtual book club than watching a lecture. In an age where community often determines what becomes popular, this shift may be more significant than many educators realize.

The Philippines has not yet embraced bookstreaming on the same scale as the United States or Europe, but the foundations already exist. TikTok’s BookTok community has steadily grown over the past several years, proving that social media possesses enormous influence over reading habits. Filipino creators such as Koji Arsua (@koji.reads), Gerald the Bookworm (@geraldthebookworm), Cedrix Eligio (@notcedrix), @girlbossinred, @lovejulienne, and @bewareofpity have built loyal communities by reviewing books, documenting their reading journeys, recommending novels across different genres, and discussing literature in ways that feel approachable rather than intimidating. While many of them focus on short-form videos instead of marathon livestreams, the difference is merely one of format. The principle remains exactly the same: make books visible. Make reading social. Make literature appear exciting enough that someone scrolling endlessly through TikTok decides to close the app—not because they are bored, but because they suddenly want to read the very book they just saw.

This visibility may be bookstreaming’s greatest contribution. One of the tragedies of modern reading culture is that reading has become invisible. Unlike sports, gaming, music, or even fitness, reading rarely happens where others can witness it. We no longer see strangers deeply absorbed in novels during long bus rides as often as previous generations did. Public libraries have become quieter not only because readers are respectful but because there are fewer readers altogether. Bookstreaming reverses that invisibility. It reminds audiences that books are not relics gathering dust inside classrooms or libraries but living stories capable of provoking laughter, debate, heartbreak, curiosity, and even disagreement. Simply watching another person become emotionally invested in a story gives reading something it has lacked for years: cultural visibility. In today’s attention economy, visibility matters almost as much as quality. A brilliant book hidden from public conversation might as well not exist.

This explains why bookstreaming deserves far more attention than it currently receives in the Philippines. We have spent years blaming smartphones for declining literacy, yet perhaps smartphones themselves are not the enemy. Perhaps the real enemy is unimaginative engagement with books. Schools still introduce literature primarily through examinations, comprehension tests, graded essays, and mandatory reading lists. Students often encounter books as requirements before they ever experience them as pleasures. By the time they graduate, reading has become associated with deadlines instead of discovery. Bookstreaming challenges that culture. It removes the pressure to perform intellectually. There are no grades for asking questions. No embarrassment in admitting confusion over unfamiliar vocabulary. No expectation that every discussion must become an academic analysis. Watching a creator laugh at a funny paragraph or struggle through a difficult chapter reminds viewers that reading is supposed to be enjoyable before it becomes educational.

Still, we should resist the temptation to romanticize bookstreaming as a miracle cure for the country’s reading crisis. Watching someone else read is not the same as reading. Becoming emotionally invested in a creator does not automatically produce stronger comprehension skills. Buying books because they trend on TikTok does not guarantee they will ever be opened. The Philippines continues to face profound learning challenges, many of which stem from systemic problems far beyond social media. Schools require stronger literacy programs. Public libraries need greater investment. Teachers deserve better resources. Families need time and economic stability to nurture reading habits at home. Bookstreaming cannot repair these structural weaknesses, nor should anyone expect it to. Technology has never been capable of replacing institutions.

Yet dismissing bookstreaming because it cannot solve everything would also be shortsighted. Social movements rarely begin with policy papers or government programs. They begin with culture. Before people develop habits, they develop interests. Before they become readers, they become curious. Curiosity is precisely what bookstreaming seems capable of generating. It lowers the barrier to entry by presenting books not as symbols of intelligence but as sources of entertainment, conversation, and personal growth. That subtle shift may be exactly what younger Filipinos need. A teenager who spends hours watching livestreams every evening may never walk into a library because a teacher instructed them to do so. They just might do it after watching their favorite creator spend an evening captivated by a novel they cannot stop talking about.

Perhaps this is where Iloilo can play an important role. As a UNESCO Creative City of Gastronomy with a rich literary heritage, home to respected universities, independent bookstores, and a vibrant community of writers, the city already possesses the cultural foundation necessary to encourage reading. Imagine if local libraries experimented with bookstreaming sessions featuring Ilonggo authors. Imagine university reading clubs hosting live discussions that welcomed not only students but audiences across the country. Imagine local creators collaborating with schools to transform assigned reading into shared online experiences. These ideas may sound unconventional today, but so did online classes before the pandemic permanently changed education. Every meaningful innovation begins by sounding unrealistic.

So, is bookstreaming the answer to the Philippines’ reading crisis? The honest answer is no. It cannot teach every child to read fluently, reverse years of learning loss, or compensate for chronic underinvestment in education. But perhaps that is asking too much of any single idea. Bookstreaming does not need to solve the crisis by itself. It only needs to accomplish something far simpler and, perhaps, far more important: convince young Filipinos that reading is worth their time again. In a country where distractions multiply faster than books are opened, making reading visible, exciting, and socially rewarding may be one of the most promising beginnings we have. The literacy crisis will not disappear because someone goes live with a novel. But every reader begins somewhere, and if that beginning now happens on a smartphone screen instead of inside a library, perhaps we should spend less time criticizing the platform and more time celebrating the possibility that, against all odds, the internet might finally be teaching us to read again.

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Noel Galon de Leon is a writer and professor at the University of the Philippines Visayas, where he teaches in the Division of Professional Education and at UP High School in Iloilo. He is also the secretary of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts-National Committee on Literary Arts.