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At the least, reading involves the construction of a search (or solution) tree (or graph), the selection of candidate moves, pruning the tree, deciding when to stop, and evaluating the leaves of the tree.
I think this is where many people go wrong. Obviously it's not untrue, and it works in chess, and it appeals to (dare I say it again) number-oriented people. But I recall a wise Irishman, a customs officer at Heathrow Airport, who answered a query from a passenger about "How do I get to the first floor?" The reply was "Go upstairs."
This was wise, not insolent, because the officer knew that the first floor in England is what some people from other countries call the ground floor.
I think we need this sort of wisdom about reading. In other words, the first step is to decide on our goal and how to recognise it. The reading tree we construct to get there is then no longer a "search tree" in the sense that such a search takes place inside a chess program, which simply chooses the line with the highest number, and even humans tend to follow the material. Go is too complex for that approach. In go we simply need a line that reaches our goal without obvious obstructions. This in itself is a fantastic pruning mechanism, and ultimately it's also what a Monte Carlo program does (win by half a point; forget everything else), although with obvious important differences.
A goal-oriented search has other advantages. One is that it can become a matter of recognition (of the goal), and often a recognised pattern can be broken down into smaller recognised patterns, all of which speed up the search.
This has already been recognised (pun intended) in Japanese studies of L&D. A crude, though remarkably effective, approach they use is to divide problems into three levels:
1. Problems where there is one theme, typically an instant tactic to solve them (e.g. placement, or nakade, on the vital point of a nakade shape). Usually easy.
2. Problems where two themes are required (e.g. first a throw-in to create a makade shape, then the nakade). Usually medium difficulty.
3. Problems where three themes are required (more is very, very rare). These are usually hard, but can be "coached" by showing the first theme, or the first two.
Studying themes like this leads to recognition of other useful information. For example, certain themes tend to be combined in a specific order, or certain themes, or combinations of them, tend to lead to kos (or sekis). As someone pointed out above, I have included a proposed long list of themes in Gateway to All Marvels (all cross-referenced to the the several hundred problems).
Further, one way that some think is useful is to compose problems on the basis of themes. This certainly reinforces knowledge and recognition of the themes.
Although crude, there are higher levels you can tune into. This was well illustrated by Maeda Nobuaki (the God of Tsumego) in a series of articles he wrote in the 1950s. I was reminded of this a couple of days ago when someone asked me a question about "rules" for problems, not recognising that the accepted conventions we use now are due to Maeda.
He was not teaching L&D directly, but as the editor of the tsumego prize quiz in Kido he was overwhelmed by a sudden surge in interest and started to find that solutions proposed by readers were not actually wrong, but jarred with him as a pro. He therefore set about devising a set of "rules" that essentially we use today. These guidelines were based on how a pro approaches a problem, and can be seen as a refinement of the themed approach.
My comments here relate to L&D but they can apply to tesuji situations just as well - the priority is still to work out what you want to achieve. First get your two bits of wood, then fix a nail, and then hit the nail with the hammer. Lashing out with a hammer, as in the old "If I had a hammer" song, and forgetting the nail, in the hope that you might accidentally join two short planks together is just being as thick as said two short planks.