Some people assume that, because I’m a reader, and because I work in the software industry, and because I enjoy listening to music on an iPody gadget doohickey, that I must be contemplating the acquisition of an e-book reader such as the Amazon Kindle or the Samsung Papyrus. Not only are these people overestimating my willingness to be an early adapter, they are also underestimating my hatred of e-book readers.
First, there’s the cost. One must shell out at least a couple of hundred bucks for the device itself, plus the books reportedly average around $9.99. No borrowing from the library, no loans from friends, no reselling the book after you’ve decided you never want to see the thing again, and no shoplifting.
(Like leafy green vegetables and basic health care, books are something that, ideally, should be free for all. But the ‘shoplifting’ thing is really just a joke. I mean, it’s been months since I’ve shoplifted a book.)
Second, there’s reportedly a massive amount of typographical and formatting errors in the e-books, a result of file conversion. Considering how lividly my blood pressure ratchets whenever I spy a typo in any writing that I have paid for, I’d be dead in a week.
And of course, what are you going to read if you’re on an airplane that’s taking off or landing? Sorry, friend-o, you’re out of luck if all you’ve got is an electronic book reader.
But the biggest problem with e-book readers is the absence of the physical book, the loss of intimacy with the book that comes from caressing each page and hearing the spine crack as you close and open the cover. Holding an electronic device is just mediocre.
The other day I was in one of my favorite book stores in Cambridge, Rodney’s, which specializes in rare, used and out-of-print books. Many of the books are 50 or more years old, and although they smell a tad funny, they are gorgeous. I covet them not for the prospect of their content, but because they are beautiful books, like a work of art.
I mean, look at the books pictured below. Beautiful! Reading them is like talking to a person whose beauty is so distracting that everything they say is just “Blah, blah, blah.”
It saddens me to think of the inevitable time in the future when all books are electronic, and paper books are relics of a primitive era, and there are no book stores in which to contemplate shelves full of beautiful literary objects. Does anyone else see the cruel metaphorical irony in the name “Kindle”?
