In my work, I’m (in)famous for writing long emails. Most of my colleagues joke about it, and I imagine whenever they see an email from me in their inbox, they first groan and then they settle in for what they know is going to be a long, boring read. I defend my long emails by explaining that everything you need to know is in that email, hopefully answering as many questions and addressing as many issues as I could think of, precluding any need for dozens of further emails requesting clarifications. And this is demonstrably true; when I would send out long emails to my staff about tasks that needed to be done, there were very few responses. (Of course, that could also mean that very few people actually read them, but let’s not go there.)

But the true, naked heart of this matter is that I love The Long Form. I prefer the lengthy, detailed, complex, nuanced thing that takes a long time to unpack and understand over the quick, simple, generic, easily digested thing. For most things that I consume, I like them longer… movies, television, books, stories… Probably the only exception is that I eat rather quickly, but even though I literally consume my food quickly, I still like long, leisurely meals, especially when there’s good conversation to accompany it. People often complain about movies being too long, but I rarely mind. Frequently, I’ve suggested books to my friends and family, who read the first few pages of a thousand and then give up. “It’s too long,” they say. My students… I can’t begin to explain my frustration with students who don’t want to read anything longer than a Buzzfeed article, or won’t watch anything longer than a 5-minute YouTube video (unless it’s a Marvel movie). Finding meaningful, short content that I know they will willingly consume (and enjoy) is an impossible chore.

And even though we now live in a world of rapidly decreasing attention spans, I know that I’m not alone. I know that most good entertainment, for example, is appreciated when it’s long. Look at most of the Best Picture winners at the Oscars over the decades, and you’ll see that lengthy films tend to win awards. This article from 2011 analysed eighty years of Best Picture Oscar winners and found that 70% of winners were over 2 hours long. (Although length alone is no guarantee of quality – case in point: 2001’s Pearl Harbor, a solid clunker at over 3 hours.) When done right, longer films take the time to build up the story, provide motivations for characters, allow those characters to develop. They often have more complex and subtle storylines that take some thinking to figure out.

Most fans of the HBO Game of Thrones TV series who hated the way the show ended (and there are a lot of you) complained that the show’s final seasons were too rushed – characters travelled long distances in very little screen time, and their motivations changed too rapidly to justify their actions. People notice these things. On the other hand, television shows that take a while to unspool and develop their storylines over multiple episodes (or even seasons) have received accolades like “greatest show in TV history” (The Wire, Breaking Bad, The Sopranos). Why? Because their stories and characters are so complex, they can’t be introduced and then wrapped up in a single episode. George RR Martin (author of the very long books that inspired Game of Thrones) himself said that his books could never be adapted into movies because of how complex they were. Had he written them in a time that wasn’t considered The Golden Age of Television, the HBO series may never have happened.

I won’t even try to say too much about books. The longer the better. Most of the great books I’ve read have been long, complex, and detailed. A lot of them are books in series; my favourite genre – science fiction & fantasy – is no stranger to this. When you’re creating entirely new worlds and histories from scratch, it takes time for the reader to fully immerse themselves. Such books are notoriously long. And often when I finish them, I wish they were longer (especially when they’re really good). I wish I could stay immersed in those imaginary worlds for longer, and continue the story, and keep following the characters lives. (However, some books/series can indeed be too long and drawn out. Wheel of Time, I’m looking at you.)

One of my favourite mediums for the long form is journalism, and quite often the winners of the Pulitzer Prize are writers of long, explanatory, investigative stories that took many months or years to pry open. These long form stories make great reads, despite existing in a time when news articles have started to preface the text with the number of minutes it will take to read them, so that casual readers can skip them if they seem too long. The 21st century would have become a graveyard for traditional journalism had it not been for these wonderful long form articles, afloat in a sea of listicles and clickbait nonsense. The 2019 Pulitzer winning story in the LA Times that cracked the case of the USC gynecologist who abused hundred of young female students. The same year’s NY Times story that revealed a decade’s worth of tax abuses by the Trump family. The NY Times/New Yorker story in 2018 that exposed Harvey Weinstein and essentially started the global #metoo movement. These stories, built up laboriously by teams of reporters, replete with details – these are only some of the more recent examples of the long form in journalism.

That’s not to say there aren’t great books, movies, and TV shows that are short. The Little Prince, one of my favourite books of all time, is only 16,534 words long. I’ve written research papers longer than that. (I’m kidding; only one of them was longer.) It packs so much into so little, every word carefully chosen for maximum impact – simplicity and poetry conveying depth of emotion. I also tend to like British TV shows because their seasons (“series” in the UK) are so short, usually only 6 episodes. Tight, compact stories that say a lot unlike the mammoth bloated 24-episode seasons of US shows (most of which are filler, let’s be honest). And I already mentioned Pearl Harbor, so enough said about that.

As I mentioned, length alone can’t bestow quality on the written word, or the filmed narrative. But it certainly allows room for quality to thrive. Stories – because that’s what all these things are – require space and time to build appreciation for, like the complex flavours of gourmet cuisine. Don’t get me wrong – there’s nothing I like more than a quick slice of pizza from a corner pizza shop in Manhattan. There’s so much creative space for short, simple, poetic, and concise. But the world also needs more things that take time to savour and appreciate. The world should embrace the beauty and complexity of the long form.