Paper Vs. Pixel
When is the last time you read a book?
Seriously, now. I don't even mean a book on a Kindle - that still counts as a book to me, though it's not quite the same as a book-book, that thing you held in your hands and it was made of paper and cardboard (oh, and way back when, leather covers!), and smelled of ink and maybe smoke or a little musty if it had been packed away. It felt nice in your hands, generally, though I did (do?) have a quarrel with some book's size - a book should fit comfortably in your hands, neither too large to wrap your hands around nor too small for the number of pages (yes, Dickens is going to just have to be a large book unless the print is so small that your glasses won't ever be strong enough).
But does anybody read a real book any more?
Dare I recollect going to the library: in my neighborhood growing up, it was an old mansion that had been converted, each wing (and the balcony) dedicated to a type of reader: the non-fiction to left, the fiction, arranged by genre, to the right. A central counter was flanked by the card catalogs (now that's really dating things!), and before you left you displayed a library card: your card and the book's card were photographed simultaneously so they knew who you were and how to find you if you didn't bring that book back on time!
There was nothing quite like the moment when you graduated from picture books to chapter books. A proud moment, to be sure. My biggest goal in life was to read the biggest, baddest book I could find: Gone With the Wind when I was 10. There was something about the sheer size of a book that could be satisfying.
Now, of course, you can "rent" a book, buy it digitally, or even "borrow" it digitally online. I admit to being stubborn, however, and I still buy books. I like to comb through a place like Ollie's for books that are slightly out of date or perhaps didn't sell well - though I have to say I have found some treasures there for $4-$5. Or to stop at Barnes and Noble and stroll through the racks and racks of books, pick one up and judge its heft, turn over a few pages (I have a habit of always reading the very last sentence of any new book - somehow, it tells me if I'm going to like it or not), and decide if it "feels" like something I'd enjoy.
There are myriad details that tell you if you'll enjoy the whole ritual of reading a book: what is the typeface? How does the paper feel? It is a book that you can comfortably read in bed, turned on your side and propping it up on a pillow?
Can you sample a digital book like that?
Now, don't mistake me: there are some definite advantages to digital books. They're highly portable. Assuming your power doesn't give out. And of course, that omnipresent problem of reading on the beach: is the contrast high enough to withstand bright sunlight? And of course, most digital devices will get hot and don't survive being dropped in the pool any better than a paperback will. But you can carry 20 with you on a trip, so they're certainly easier to pack. And if you don't feel like this one, you can skip over to that one very quickly.
Digital books also offer some distinct advantages: I don't know a word, so I can highlight it and if I have an Internet connection, I can get a definition very quickly. And of course it's possible to highlight and bookmark text easily and quickly - and there is a certain sharing community of seeing what others who have read a book have highlighted as memorable. You don't need a bookmark (though, I have to admit enjoying collecting assorted bookmarks, or getting creative with various scraps of paper, a leaf, a photo to use as a bookmark), and you know how quickly you are reading a given book (at this rate you will finish this chapter in five minutes).
But for all of the similarities and differences in digital books and paper books - they are books. Long format: plot lines, characters, complications, story arcs dropped and picked up - that feeling of "I can't go to sleep til I finish this chapter!" Or, in the case of non-fiction, that reward of understanding a subject better in depth - not just a sip or a sample, but a writer's thesis laid out with footnotes and bibliography to support it, and a thread of logic from initial statement to defense and conclusion.
All of this, of course, is by way of comparing it to the alternative: the kind of reading we do now, online.
I realized, not that long ago, that it had been quite a while since I had actually read a book. And anyone who knows me well will find that hard to believe. I find my attention span reduced; I find the temptations too many and varied; I find my powers of concentration reduced and my desire to answer back increased. In this world of digital, instantaneous, hidden behind the veil of anonymity communications, we don't sit still to hear another out - even if it's fiction. Sure, a badly written bound book might be tossed aside if it proves unreadable.
On the other hand, I recall one summer reading through a series of eight books about - of all things - a Selkie living on a Mississippi tributary. Horrible stuff, but at the same time, wonderful. Relaxing, silly, summer cocktail of a series that I enjoyed an hour or so at a sitting, on a dock by a small, upstate lake. As frothy and worthless as they were as literature, they served a lovely purpose: I remember them to this day; they were relaxing and fun; I was elsewhere for a short span, drinking in the summer evening and reading until the sunlight failed me, then finding my bookmark, and putting aside the book, and looking forward to the next chapter.
And that probably sums it all up: there can be a strange reward to even the most ordinary of books.
Try to remember the last time you read a digital post and it stayed with you - setting, words, chair, daylight - for more than a moment or two. Now go find a book and dig in.
Seriously, now. I don't even mean a book on a Kindle - that still counts as a book to me, though it's not quite the same as a book-book, that thing you held in your hands and it was made of paper and cardboard (oh, and way back when, leather covers!), and smelled of ink and maybe smoke or a little musty if it had been packed away. It felt nice in your hands, generally, though I did (do?) have a quarrel with some book's size - a book should fit comfortably in your hands, neither too large to wrap your hands around nor too small for the number of pages (yes, Dickens is going to just have to be a large book unless the print is so small that your glasses won't ever be strong enough).
But does anybody read a real book any more?
Dare I recollect going to the library: in my neighborhood growing up, it was an old mansion that had been converted, each wing (and the balcony) dedicated to a type of reader: the non-fiction to left, the fiction, arranged by genre, to the right. A central counter was flanked by the card catalogs (now that's really dating things!), and before you left you displayed a library card: your card and the book's card were photographed simultaneously so they knew who you were and how to find you if you didn't bring that book back on time!
There was nothing quite like the moment when you graduated from picture books to chapter books. A proud moment, to be sure. My biggest goal in life was to read the biggest, baddest book I could find: Gone With the Wind when I was 10. There was something about the sheer size of a book that could be satisfying.
Now, of course, you can "rent" a book, buy it digitally, or even "borrow" it digitally online. I admit to being stubborn, however, and I still buy books. I like to comb through a place like Ollie's for books that are slightly out of date or perhaps didn't sell well - though I have to say I have found some treasures there for $4-$5. Or to stop at Barnes and Noble and stroll through the racks and racks of books, pick one up and judge its heft, turn over a few pages (I have a habit of always reading the very last sentence of any new book - somehow, it tells me if I'm going to like it or not), and decide if it "feels" like something I'd enjoy.
There are myriad details that tell you if you'll enjoy the whole ritual of reading a book: what is the typeface? How does the paper feel? It is a book that you can comfortably read in bed, turned on your side and propping it up on a pillow?
Can you sample a digital book like that?
Now, don't mistake me: there are some definite advantages to digital books. They're highly portable. Assuming your power doesn't give out. And of course, that omnipresent problem of reading on the beach: is the contrast high enough to withstand bright sunlight? And of course, most digital devices will get hot and don't survive being dropped in the pool any better than a paperback will. But you can carry 20 with you on a trip, so they're certainly easier to pack. And if you don't feel like this one, you can skip over to that one very quickly.
Digital books also offer some distinct advantages: I don't know a word, so I can highlight it and if I have an Internet connection, I can get a definition very quickly. And of course it's possible to highlight and bookmark text easily and quickly - and there is a certain sharing community of seeing what others who have read a book have highlighted as memorable. You don't need a bookmark (though, I have to admit enjoying collecting assorted bookmarks, or getting creative with various scraps of paper, a leaf, a photo to use as a bookmark), and you know how quickly you are reading a given book (at this rate you will finish this chapter in five minutes).
But for all of the similarities and differences in digital books and paper books - they are books. Long format: plot lines, characters, complications, story arcs dropped and picked up - that feeling of "I can't go to sleep til I finish this chapter!" Or, in the case of non-fiction, that reward of understanding a subject better in depth - not just a sip or a sample, but a writer's thesis laid out with footnotes and bibliography to support it, and a thread of logic from initial statement to defense and conclusion.
All of this, of course, is by way of comparing it to the alternative: the kind of reading we do now, online.
I realized, not that long ago, that it had been quite a while since I had actually read a book. And anyone who knows me well will find that hard to believe. I find my attention span reduced; I find the temptations too many and varied; I find my powers of concentration reduced and my desire to answer back increased. In this world of digital, instantaneous, hidden behind the veil of anonymity communications, we don't sit still to hear another out - even if it's fiction. Sure, a badly written bound book might be tossed aside if it proves unreadable.
On the other hand, I recall one summer reading through a series of eight books about - of all things - a Selkie living on a Mississippi tributary. Horrible stuff, but at the same time, wonderful. Relaxing, silly, summer cocktail of a series that I enjoyed an hour or so at a sitting, on a dock by a small, upstate lake. As frothy and worthless as they were as literature, they served a lovely purpose: I remember them to this day; they were relaxing and fun; I was elsewhere for a short span, drinking in the summer evening and reading until the sunlight failed me, then finding my bookmark, and putting aside the book, and looking forward to the next chapter.
And that probably sums it all up: there can be a strange reward to even the most ordinary of books.
Try to remember the last time you read a digital post and it stayed with you - setting, words, chair, daylight - for more than a moment or two. Now go find a book and dig in.
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