Nothing beats the real thing…
No, I am not doing a soft drink marketing reference. I’m referring to books. Good ol’ paper and board books. I spent a good portion of my evening reading blog posts, articles, facebook blurbs, tweets, etc on the recent debacle wherein Amazon pulled all MacMillan Publishing titles from its virtual shelves. Being a complete publishing neophyte I was curious, at first, about the implications. Which lead to trying to decipher the entire idea of DRM and ebooks as a field of the industry. Needless to say, I don’t know that Ive accumulated much more than a cursory understanding of it all. I’m not even going to bother voicing my opinion on the issue, as I feel yet half informed, and doubt that anyone would benefit from my rambling incoherently… Well – any moreso than usual that is.
What prompted me to post was an offhand comment made by M, as I was bouncing thoughts and questions off him. To paraphrase him – We’ll all be reading digital books as a rule eventually, and the printed book will go the way of the horse drawn carriage.
Anyhow. I was horrified at not only the idea, but the ease with which the image seemed to trip off his tongue. No books? This is a circle of hell too twisted even for me to imagine. I’ve had a love affair with the book since I was a child. The thrill of cracking the cover open, the first slip of pages against fingertips, even the smell. Brand new, slightly alkaline or that particular mustiness that seems to accumulate with age. Are we, as a society really going to let that go? Will I become that funky old woman with her, instead of cats, books? Will the book, as a vehicle for story, become the anachronistic equivalent of a carriage ride through Central Park?
Come on, Liz. It’s just a means of communication of the ideas contained therein. What matter if it’s pixels on a screen, or ink on paper? As M, very logically asked me, was I saying that a printed newspaper article is more valid than one done online? My answer to which was a resounding “Of course not!”. So why then this seemingly illogical attachment to the printed book? (He’s also very good at pointing out those moments when my reasoning is less than stellar.)
I’m sure I won’t be able to articulate the entirety of how and why I love books. Not without boring all of you into a collective coma. But against the backdrop of his question, I realized a portion of my fear of a book free world. Books to me are like art. Well DUH! you say. But no. Every book I’ve read, even the bad ones, affect me. I’d also like to believe that a book carries a bit of the author’s spirit in it. Those things live and breathe in the pages. It’s the difference between a digital rendering of one of my four year old’s splash-dab paintings, and the real thing. No scoffing. I understand there is a world of remove between a mass produced piece of media and a unique , handcrafted bit of art. But reading is experiential. And my experience informs the item. Every bent page, every dinged cover, even those I’ve worked to keep pristine. A book is the marriage of the author’s vision and voice, and my heart.
I guess I’m not ready to house my heart in plastic just yet.
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