My room is being slowly taken over by books.
Shelves that line the walls neatly, showing off all the spines; boxes—filled to burst with beloved childhood reads—tucked into remote corners; stacks upon stacks of hefty tomes that hug the baseboards and tower three feet high. You’ve probably heard that bone-chilling statistic, “for every square foot, there’s one spider.” Well, my room is the equivalent of that statistic, only applied to paper, book glue, and ink. It’s a virtual treasure hoard of literary space-fillers.
Only problem is, said literary space-fillers really live up to their name. I could definitely use a bigger room—or a castle. Because one day I’ll come home from another impromptu excursion to the bookstore and find that there’s just nowhere to put more books.
“But wait!” you say, “There’s a simple solution! Get an e-reader!”
First off, what could be simpler than buying a castle?
Second… Get an e-reader? What do you take me for?
Now, here’s the thing. I understand the practical use of a digital book database. I get that it saves time and space and money and paper. It makes total sense to me that, rather than lug around (and, more importantly, pay for) a heavy carry-on filled with all their Dickens needs for an upcoming flight, some individuals choose to carry a Kindle. But I can’t help being filled with righteous, bibliophile anger when someone suggests I exchange my paper library for an electronic one.
There are a couple reasons for that, the first of which is: what happens if, God forbid, my e-reader is misplaced? Or dissolved by acid? Or dropped in the ocean-side pool at the resort in Jamaica? My precious library would be lost, all at once. At best, I’d have to do some digging to find the backup, then buy a whole new device on which to put it. New e-readers don’t come all that cheap, and I’ve already spent my life savings on this Caribbean island adventure of mine.
In less extreme situations, the device might simply be low on charge. But I think we can all sympathize with the inconvenience of a depleted battery.
And that’s the beauty of a real, tangible, beat-up (but for goodness’ sake, never dog-eared) book.
Paper books don’t need to be charged. They don’t come with a bunch of cumbersome cords that get tangled up inside of desk drawers. You can open up right to where you left off, and the pages won’t even buffer! It’s like instant entertainment (and we all know how hard that is to come by these days).
But beyond that, I think there’s something about the essence of a real book that makes it completely irreplaceable. Stories touch our lives in profound, inexplicable ways; they show us the beauty and complexity in the world, and leave imprints on our souls. And a book made with real paper, bound with real glue, and printed with real ink is like a story that you can touch. Whenever someone connects with a story, a small bit of their self stays in that world—and real books give us the chance to share that part of us with thousands of other people.
An e-book is like a digital rendering of a piece of music—crisper, cleaner. More precise, than a CD or a vinyl, but sapped of vibrance. Like a long-hand letter converted into a text message. And I think we, as humans living on a planet illuminated by artificial light, are vaguely aware of that difference—of the fact that printed words can reach beyond our eyes in ways that words on a screen never will.
