“Don’t judge a book by its cover” – goes the well known adage, but apparently most of us surreptitiously crease pages to add to the illusion that a book has been read. In a recent survey commissioned for the World Book Day, 65% of Britons admitted claiming to have read a book they haven’t. A need to impress a potential love interest and trying to engage in a conversation were the most common reasons for the little white lie.

Yet a habit to keep literary collections – not only the novels we cherish but also the ones we never finished and even those we will never read – on display, in a prominent place in the living room, suggests that on the contrary to a one off fib, literary lies are a well-planned ongoing deceit. Why else would anyone adorn their Facebook profile with a virtual I-Read bookshelf – stacked with Proust, War and Peace and Ulysses they never had the time or desire to open – for virtual onlookers to see?

Intellectual snobbism, in the face of media attacks on “lowbrow” culture, has a lot to answer for. Serious titles among supposed reads of choice are designed to place the reader in the opposition and define their attitude towards mass culture. No matter if completely unfounded, signs of intellectual engagement are met with a positive response from others; they create an aura of exclusivity. Hardly anyone brags about a passion for chick-lits. Since our early school years, society ensures us that without acquainting ourselves, and more importantly, appreciating Homer or Byron we can never claim to belong to the crowd of erudites. Whilst questioning the outdated Kant-esque approach of universal and quantifiable taste, most of us painstakingly try to find joy in literary positions endorsed by the historical arbiters. Finally, we just give up and choose to play a game of pretence aided by the publishing industry offering a variety of easy abstracts. No wonder that Professor Bayard’s, (a French lecturer and psychoanalyst who admits to never finishing Ulysses and forgetting what most important novels are about),”How to talk about books you haven’t read” is an international bestseller.

However, even having given up on a title of a highbrow connoisseur, we still keep up with the game. Unlike Woody Allen’s Zelig, we lack the power to fully transform in order to be just like others surrounding us. And yet we’re desperate for the feeling of belonging and reassurance that comes with it. With the postmodern confusion of dual nationalities, easy upward social mobility and a spectrum of jobs on the CV, our attitudes and interests unambiguously define our social identities. Technically we don’t lie; we just let the books do the talking for us. Guerrilla Gardening, Kerouac and Steinbeck scattered on the coffee table suggest a left-leaning bohemian. Brett Easton Ellis, Umberto Eco’s On Beauty or Hedonist’s Guide to… slipped into an open handbag during a commute to work might earn an appreciative nod from other pleasure-seeking urbanites. We’d rather earn our place in the world based on untruthful convictions, than risk hanging in a social limbo.

Is it really worth it, though? While literary lies prove that reading, as a pastime is still a crucial part of the Western culture, it also shows we are somewhat scared to embrace today, a time of incomprehensive change. A Russian proverb claims that “with lies you can get ahead but never go back”, however the web of faux-intellectual deceit seems to be stopping us from fully entering the contemporary world.

We will never have a chance to be completely honest with those around us, even permit for a drunken disclosure of our little secret. We will never be able to let the guard down. Why not, knowing that literary liars are in the majority anyway, finally step forward and break one of the few remaining taboos of contemporary times and simply say ‘I haven’t read it and don’t intend to’?