What We Hide Behind Our Electronics
Thanks to Gabriel for sending me this great Slate.com article about e-books vs. physical books and another aspect of loss in that changing tide.
It really struck a chord with me, because books, and the books that people choose to read for pleasure, are an endless joy and fascination for me. One of my favourite things to do (occasionally surreptitiously and politely, but usually unabashedly) when I am in a new friend’s home for the first time is to peruse their bookshelves. Is it neat and orderly, tidy? Is it largely textbooks and career books? Is it stuffed to overflowing, books crammed here and there at various angles? Does he have rare and collectible books? Does she have a secret shelf of shame devoted to bad romance and old Sweet Valley High from her tween years? What’s on the nightstand? Which book looks to have been read the most?
We lose all that, now. I imagine it would be considered very rude indeed to pick up someone’s e-reader and start idly flicking through, but inching from one end of a shelf to the other, head cocked at an uncomfortable angle, glass of wine in hand, is perfectly acceptable, joyful snooping. I love exclaiming when I find one of my favourites on their shelf. I love begging to borrow when they have a book I’ve been dying to read. I love silently judging when they have Grisham, Clancy, Koontz, and perhaps old issues of Soldier of Fortune.
For me, books are part of my house, part of my decor, and part of who I am. When you come into my home (mind the clutter), I expect and welcome you to eye the shelves, laugh at how much Calvin & Hobbes I have, ask about titles, pull down copies, admire my few cherished collectible books, borrow, and discuss.
The thought of replacing the four plus shelves worth of dusty, papery, dog-eared books in my home with one sterile e-reader seems efficient, yes. Tidy. Minimalist. And it makes me sad, at all the happy chatter and exchange of ideas and understanding, of bonding, that might be lost as a result.