During the final days of 2023, my Instagram feed was filled with posts from readers attempting to squeeze in a few last books to meet their Goodreads Challenge goal: three more novels to 50, one last title after Christmas to clear 100, and speed-reading my last two to hit my goal.

I thought of these posts – and the surrounding debates in bookish circles over whether audiobooks or graphic novels “count” as reading – while working my way through “Why We Read: On Bookworms, Libraries and Just One More Page Before Lights Out,” a warm and funny memoir in essays from the appropriately named Shannon Reed.

Covering topics ranging from the deliciousness of that twist in “Gone Girl” and the joy of Amish romance novels to the semester she spent decoding George Saunders’s “Lincoln in the Bardo,” Reed – who teaches writing and contemporary fiction at the University of Pittsburgh – chronicles her lifelong relationships with books and reading.

Underlying each essay, though, is a conviction that people should read what they want to read. The latest Emily Henry book, “Moby-Dick” and tomes on U.S. history, she explains, all offer value to the reader.

“There are simply too many rules about reading,” she writes. “Worse, the higher up the ladder of being a Good Reader … people go, the more rules they seem to have internalized.”

These rules, such as reading the right literary books and eschewing genre fiction, make reading a duty instead of a joyful exercise. It’s a message that anyone obsessing over meeting their Goodreads goal could use: Throw out the expectations about reading properly, and do what makes you happy.

But every bookworm, even those not hemmed in by constraints, will find an essay, perhaps many, to enjoy in “Why We Read.” Its witty and joyful installments document Reed’s early years reading, her time teaching high school and then university students, and the books that helped her through tough times. As someone who never leaves the house without at least one book in my bag, I found myself nodding along, thinking, “That’s me!” at countless passages.

The collection opens with Reed reflecting on how she turned to books as a hearing-impaired child. The books she devoured gave her a place where she felt entirely at home. Family trips to national parks were spent reading Nancy Drew mysteries, not taking in the scenery around her. Nights were spent trying to squeeze in just one more page before falling asleep.

“You have an evening companion: your book. You’re reading. There’s nothing else to do except sleep, which has no appeal, not until you know what happens after Jo cuts off all of her hair,” she writes in lines that instantly transported me to the first time I read “Little Women.”

Years later, Reed works as a teacher helping existing book lovers find more to read. In one particularly lovely moment, she explains to a low-income student that all the books at the public library are available free. The student, blown away after showing Reed her newfound treasures, whispers, “All my best friends are at the library.”

In one of the collection’s strongest essays, Reed recounts teaching “The Diary of Young Girl” as a substitute early in her career. In it, she criticizes the way books and literature are often taught, showing that it can take the fun out of reading. Simultaneously, she demonstrates how much she has learned from leading class discussions, even after teaching the same texts dozens of times. When a student brings a class to silence by admitting she didn’t think she would have the courage to protect Anne Frank and her family, “every one of us grasped that protecting innocent fellow humans was the only morally correct choice. Yet only one of us was willing to admit what had to be true: that if this (had) been asked of most of us, we wouldn’t have done it.” That discussion, she theorizes, stayed with her students long after any book they simply took a test on would have.

Another standout essay focuses on Reed’s experience reading Atul Gawande’s “Being Mortal” as her father died and then again seven years later after experiencing the COVID-19 pandemic. The book devastates her while leaving her with a greater appreciation of the small moments of her life. It’s a potent reminder of the power of finding the right book at the right time.

Despite these dark topics, Reed, a semifinalist for the Thurber Prize for American Humor, intersperses her essays with funny lists gently mocking bibliophiles and genre conventions, such as “Signs You May Be an Adult Character in a YA Novel” (“Your kid’s friends think you’re the best”) and “Signs You May Be a Character in a Popular Children’s Book” (“You would like a hug”).

“Why We Read” would be a delightful addition to any bookworm’s shelves. In exploring the comfort and companionship books offer us, Reed gives her reader those gifts, as well.

Elizabeth Held is a writer in D.C. Her weekly newsletter, “What To Read If,” recommends a wide range of books.

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