Nothing makes me feel guiltier than buying ebooks. I don’t doubt that they’re the future, but in my heart, I don’t want them to be. I like paper. I like the feel of books. I like having shelves of them, filled with memories and trophies of old stories. I like the tactile sense of flipping a page, and the satisfaction of reaching the end. I like the lack of distractions, of being able to sit back, switch the world off and get lost in mystery and adventure for a couple of hours, courtesy of a solid block of pure story.
Unfortunately, I also like convenience. Which is why when I was in town yesterday trying to track down the next novel for a book group I’m part of, it didn’t take long for my principles to waver. Amazon had no copies in. The bookstore could order one, but it would take a week or so. I didn’t even stop to think. By the time the cashier was finished apologising for not stocking an obscure (and not very good) novel, I had my phone in my hand, and with just a couple of presses, that book was sitting on my iPad at home. No waiting, no hesitating, and actually slightly cheaper than buying the book from the store. Hurrah.
And yet not hurrah. The thing is, a book isn’t simply a collection of words, in much the same way that a film isn’t the same at the cinema as it is on DVD, or if you see it alone instead of with a group. We read differently on screens, the action of switching pages just lacking that tactile oomph of turning over a new leaf. Soon, only millionaires and truly hardcore book snobs will have the satisfaction of hurling the new Dan Brown novel into the fireplace.
For my part, I’ve read several novels in ebook form, but I often catch myself just not doing it right. I find it harder to remember what I just read. When I flick the pages, it’s faster, more dismissive. When I get to the end, there’s no real satisfaction at a book well read, but something more reminiscent of slobbing out in front of the TV for the evening. That was fun, I think to myself, but only so long as it takes to start wondering what else is on. YouTube. Videos. TV Tropes. Anything will do, so long as it’s momentarily diverting, which isn’t the book experience at all.
Really, using an ebook makes me realise what real music fans felt like a few years ago. For me, music isn’t particularly important. It’s background noise. It’s added spice to something. It’s not something I ever sit down and listen to. I own about five CDs. Moving to digital formats was easy because I didn’t really have anything to miss. Liner notes? Never read them. Pretty box art? Never cared. I shouldn’t really complain that other people feel the same way about my precious books, although I should point out that this isn’t going to stop me for one self-righteous femtosecond.
The real fear, though, isn’t that other people will abandon the printed word, but that as time rolls on, and ebooks become easier and easier to buy and read, screens become more eye-friendly (the iPad is fine, but it’s high contrast – Amazon’s Kindle on the other hand offers a great reading experience with its e-ink technology, but has limited functionality), I’ll find myself drifting away.
The technology we have now can only improve. Higher-resolution screens that allow for scribbled notes in the margins, as well as more official typed ones. Instant bookmarks to jump right to the fun bits. Easy clipping and quoting. Possibly even a virtual fireplace for immediate cultural gratification.
And that’s only thinking about recreating the experience of books as is. There are so many things that could be added, from integrated discussion forums that you automatically visit at the end of a book, to simply being able to tap a button to send a thumbs-up to the author as recognition for a story well told, or to pre-order an upcoming sequel while you’re still burning to know what happens next.
I want to see where all of this takes us, and how the electronic book world adapts to an audience that increasingly doesn’t feel as compelled to read. I want to be part of that, even as I feel the dirty looks from my shelves of old books every time I break out the iPad.
The simple fact, though, is that it doesn’t really matter. I love reading. Always have, always will. That won’t change based on what books turn into over the next few years, and nor will the decades of good memories. Paper may or may not have long left at the centre of the book industry, but at least it’ll always have a place in my heart.
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