Did you see Simcha's post from a couple of weeks ago in which she and a bunch of Register readers listed their favorite humorous books? If not, do check it out.
The first book Simcha suggested was Lucky Jim by Kingsley Amis. When I read her description of this classic campus novel, it was love at first sight. Her readers' energetic agreement with this selection only confirmed me in my certainty that this was the book I'd been waiting for for months; I just knew it would be one of those reads where you feel a small sense of disappointment as every page passes because you don't want it to end. I didn't even finish the whole post before I began clicking around to get my copy in the mail as soon as possible, and the short time I would have to wait before it arrived seemed insufferable. And so I found it remarkable when I realized later:
I never even tried to get it as an e-book. I specifically wanted it on paper.
It occurred to me that this has happened a few other times as well: When I bought a fiction book that I was certain I would find deeply moving; when I got a book about prayer and looked forward to losing myself in its words; when I finally treated myself to that how-to book that changed many friends' lives -- in all of these cases I shunned e-formats in favor of the real thing.
When I first got my Kindle, I wondered what role it would play in my life over the long haul. I saw the many advantages of the e-format: With the basic model like I had, the reading experience was surprisingly good. There were no games or other distractions, no glossy screen, no backlight -- in fact, it was so much like paper that I had to use a book light to read it at night. On top of that, there was the convenience of being able to carry a truckload of books on a single tiny device. As I ran my hands over this sleek marvel of technology, I wondered with a pang of nostalgia if paper books would now be a thing of the past for me. Would the sight of the inside of a bookstore become a distant memory? Would my grandchildren one day visit me in a house without bookshelves?!
As my reading has gone on, with both e- and traditional formats now available, I've found that my Kindle has settled into place in my routine -- though it's not the place I first thought it would be. I purchase e-formats for books that I read for purely informational purposes, books that don't seem to have much substance, and books I'm not sure I'll like. In other words: I do not use my e-reader for books that I cherish. For those, paper alone will do.
A book is more than its words. My visceral draw to bound pages has made me realize that when a manuscript is paired with a cover image and a font family and a paper weight, a marriage of sorts takes place. Just like with a human marriage, even if these elements are not the perfect match for one another (as in the case of a beautiful text with a dowdy cover), something sacred has happened nonetheless. This mix of elements has combined to form something larger than itself.
And though the physical aspects of a book may not matter as much as its words, but they bond us to it nonetheless. When I was 14 I devoured my parents' copy of Lonesome Dove, the first long novel I ever read. I can tell you as much about its physical appearance as I can about the storyline: It was a small paperback, with yellowed pages and tight font. On the cover, the faces of the actors who played in the TV movie version floated in a dusty Sepia tone; ragged white creases ran parallel to one another all along the spine. A few pages showed indentations at the bottom where one of my parents had dog-eared them. The part where Gus died fell on the left-hand side of the open book. I would often fall asleep while reading it, and a brief feeling of delight would flutter through me when I woke up and the first thing I saw was the familiar cover image. I can give you even more details about my copies of The Thornbirds, Wuthering Heights, and The First Man in Rome -- all books I read 20 years ago. In contrast, with the books I've read on my e-reader, the memories of the words are muted by the monotony of the memories of the physical reading experience: It's all the same gray plastic electronic device, the same dark-gray font on the light-gray screen.
Reading an e-book is like engaging with someone on Skype. It's fine if you're talking to the accounting manager at your company who wants to go over the expense report with you; but if you're hoping to encounter people you just might love with all your heart, you don't want them to be confined to an image and a voice trapped behind the computer screen. You will always prefer the incarnational version.
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I have not yet bought an e-reader, but hope to one day. I think it will be great for traveling, and for taking advantage of Amazon freebies. Also, I live in a small house, so anything that helps reduce the size of my belongings is a good thing. But, I also consider reading to be somewhat of a sensory experience, so I don’t plan to abandon paper books altogether. Even if I just borrow them from the library, I enjoy the experience of it.
My husband bought me a Kindle for Christmas, and I like it much more than I expected. Without having to fumble with pages, I can cart it all over and read more easily while nursing or doing a multitude of other things. I can save books but don’t have the space issues in our tiny house. I love it, love it, love it!
Still, there are books I want to have in print, just as you describe. And I find myself looking at the covers of books on Amazon just to see them. So, I get what you are saying.
I have found that many books I want to read I can buy used for 1 penny plus 3.99 for shipping and that is oten cheaper than buying them on the Kindle. So that is what I often do. The lightness of the Kindle makes for easy reading in bed and the ability to carry many books with me easily is also a plus. I often am reading 2 or 3 books at the same time.
That being said, there is something satisfying about a real book.
I don’t have an e-reader, so maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about. But it seems to me that one of the problems with an e-reader is that you can’t just immediately find and flip to the page you want, by skimming through the pages. In a book, I can flip through all the pages quickly, and find a particular page. I’m just not sure that I can do the same thing with an e-reader, at least not as easily. And do I really want a reading technology that has to advertise “50% faster page turns”? :-)
I just have a hard time buying books since we moved some where (Chicago suburbs) where library systems are actually valued. I can find a lot of stuff I want through the library. And most of the stuff that I can’t is not available in an e-format anyway (lots of Catholic and homeschooling stuff by independent publishers). And the electronic selection at the library doesn’t look really good as well as a pain in the butt to access.
I did recently buy one book for our Nook that my husband and I both needed to have read within a week. He read it on the Nook, while I transferred it from our Nook account to my laptop to my new tablet. I could see this as a valuable tool if we needed multiple copies of the same book for homeschooling.
I share the same reaction to my Kindle and paper books as you. I would add that with a paper book it’s so much easieer to flip around for whatever reason. And I can’t stand that I don’t have page numbers on the Kindle. But the Kindle does have its place.
So, what did you think of Lucky Jim? I remember doubled over in laughter when I read it many years ago. It’s probably time for a re-read.
This is so beautiful, Jennifer! I think you’ve really hit on the sacramental nature of the printed word.
I am reminded of the exchange from “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” between Giles the librarian and Jenny from the computer lab….
Jenny: Honestly, what is it about [computers] that bothers you so much?
Giles: The smell.
Jenny: Computers don’t smell, Rupert.
Giles: I know. Smell is the most powerful trigger to the memory there is. A certain flower, or a whiff of smoke can bring up experiences long forgotten. Books smell musty and rich. The knowledge gained from a computer is—it has no texture, no context. It’s there and then it’s gone. If it’s to last, then the getting of knowledge should be tangible, it should be, um, smelly.
To me a paper book is a companion. For instance, my copy of Roget’s Thesaurus has traveled with me since I graduated from high school in 1970. The dust jacket is long gone, the cloth cover faded and worn, but I find its constant presence on my bookshelf comforting somehow, a physical link to times past. I like my Kindle, but it will never replace my “real” library.
“A book is more than its words.”
I think this is false. A person may value more aspects of a book than its words, but those qualities are accidental. The words, and ultimately the ideas, are the essence of the book. The means of storing it are not important. A “codex” is not a book, it is just a popular method of storing them. The book is the content only.
The Kindle is designed to fade away when it is being used, that is one does not pay attention to it (no animations or flashy stuff to distract). The problems found with the Kindle could very well be applied to any other personal preference. I know people who like hard cover versions of books, others who like soft cover, neither of these people thought there was any difference in the idea of “book” in the different types of codex.
Being distracted by defects and design of a codex is not an advantage, but a disadvantage. This is a matter of personal preference, a preference formed mostly by accident due to our place in time and history.
Paul H: That is a disadvantage to a degree. Random access is possible, but in general, getting to and from areas of a book can be more trying. However, this is offset by the fact that one’s place is never lost, it syncs across devices (along with notes, highlights, and bookmarks), and one can generally just pick it up and read from where one left off without thinking. No page to loose, no pages to manage, not codex to lose or damage.
But yes, for content where one will flip back and forth a lot, an ebook is a slight disadvantage.
A real book is much easier to lend. Many of our favourite books have been read by many people who would never consider buying their own copy… happily some have need been returned, but continue their life through the hands of countless new readers.
That’s interesting, because I find that I much prefer to read books that I’m really going to want to think about in Kindle format. I like being able to highlight and then quickly refresh my memory about what I’ve read by looking through the highlights. There have been several times that I’ve gotten a free copy of a book to review and went ahead and bought the Kindle version once I could tell I would like the book, so that I could make various highlights and notes as I was reading. I know you can do that in a regular book, of course, but being able to view those highlights all in one spot is a big help for me. I do agree that there are some books I’ll want in non-virtual form regardless of how I originally read them.
Again, I understand why people may prefer the familiar, but it must be recognised for what it is. There is nothing particular about the codex format or a particular codex which makes it more a “book”. This “real book” idea is not rational unless one wishes to make it a sacramental (then the matter must be more or less permanently attached to the content, otherwise, there is no “thing” to bless).
The paper based and digital technologies will co-exist due to the nature of both, and what one uses is mostly a result of preference and availability.
It is time however to shed the fetishism which is surrounding the codex and the near superstition which is attracting. It is not logical and it distracts from the actual book, the content, which is what is meaningful no matter how it is stored. It is alright and safe to admit this. It is not like ebooks are replacing the codex at all. There is no threat to one’s preferences.
Breastfeeding has made me take over my husband’s Kindle. (Don’t worry, I still get all that good eye-contact and bonding, but once she falls asleep, it’s time to read! ) I can use it with one hand, make the font bigger since my arms are at an awkward angle, and not have to worry about my wrist cramping up from trying to hold a book, turn the page, and keep it steady with one hand! Plus all the free classics are great!
I enjoy my Kindle, too, but it won’t do for cookbooks and knitting books especially, as I prefer to turn page after page of sumptuous photographs and mentally plan my meals and projects. But, for taking a few projects on the road, sending the patterns to my Kindle so I don’t lose the paper copies is just perfect!
What a remarkable insight! I’ve read the Lord of the Rings about 40 times in the same number of years since I first read it while recovering from knee surgery at 16. I have an ebook copy, but I’ve only read a few pages from it, as I discovered it lacked the appeal (& map) of the bound version. You’ve described a phenomenon I’ve experienced but never really identified: A bound book is more than the sum of its parts.
Besides this, a bound book is a random access device, while an ebook is sequential access. This is the same difference between a CD or DVD and a VCR tape, or driving a private car rather than the bus. I believe ebook technology will improve over time to reduce this disparity, but I think and hope that books in print remain readily available.
One chillng considerafion is that technology now exists to achieve the “memory hole” of Orwell’s 1984. Some provision must be made so that electronic copies may be verified against the original. While the government would have to support this effort, the potential power is too great to leave solely under government control.
Electronic copies of new texts are often the original.
Ebooks have the same issues with printed books. Printing on demand and self publishing are available to all. So, one has to look at the publishing source.
Ebooks are not something which printed works are just converted into. New content can, and is, published electronically as well. Digital works can get the nihil obstat and imprimatur too just like any other printed work. I do not think any provision is necessary any more than existed before. Anybody could publish any edition, corrupted or not, on paper too.
The Kindle is great for getting free copies of classic books, which, unfortunately, are not often available at the public library. It is also good for getting recently-published books on politics or religion at a reduced cost instead of going on to a waiting list at the public library. I still buy or borrow actual books but the Kindle has given me access to more books. It is also good to travel with.
I don’t buy into the either/or argument of ereader vs. book. I am more of a both/and kind of gal. Which format is the most suitable depends on the use and utility of any given text. If you have a manual, cookbook, reference, etc., etc., then the book format is far more practical. Now, if you are reading for pleasure, entertainment, current events, etc., then the ereader is far more practical - especially if it is a book you have no intention of ever reading again. Why clog up shelves with one-and-done beachreads or current event books that will be dated within months of publication?
I could go on and on about the convinience of my kindle, but to me the most wonderful aspect of ebooks is the gratis availability of classic literature. Not only are known works available, but also the lesser known ones of any given classic author. What an opportunity to re-connect with our cultural heritage!
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