Search:

Overthinking my newest techno-lust (now, with confessions and overvalidation)

June 10th, 2008

OK. I really, really, really want a Kindle.

(Pay attention, family who may be reading this post:

it’s, indeed, the only thing I’m listing for Santa this year. And I’ve been a very, very, very good girl).
However, before I can own a Kindle, there’s one teeny thing I need to do first. I need to pretty much retract everything I’ve ever said about e-books, e-readers, and the future of libraries and publishing over the past six years.

And I need to figure out why wanting one makes me feel, so, well, dirty.
It’s not because I’m a Luddite or anything. In fact, while I am rarely an early adopter of anything, I pride myself on geeky expertise (or at least working knowledge of) new technologies. I’m whiz-bang computer literate. Hell, I’m in the process of launching a new web development company, partnering with my husband*. I believe in open source and the Creative Commons license. I rely on the web for a large portion of my daily reading—daily news, BoingBoing, blogs (ahem). I’m relieved when an underfunded literary magazine goes electronic rather than fold. I’m hip to how the web has cracked open publishing. I swear.**
But I’ve been dead-set, deadweight, drop-dead opposed to the very notion that books should be anything other than books. Printed on paper. Pages. Ink. Glue. That smell. The infinite possibilities and romance of browsing a bookshop (on a rainy afternoon, cleared of all obligations = perfect).

Or a day at the library, the great civic equalizer and replacement for the town square, quietly reading at a table shared with other members of the community.
I fundamentally disputed that anything would ever replace the pleasure of holding a book.

Some things are incomparable: cinnamon toast made with real butter and white sugar. The smell of leather***. And books. And honestly, the first moment I ever felt like a writer was when I held Homecoming in my hand—it felt abstract until I held the solid thing in my hands. Writer or otherwise, there’s a very real fetish for the object, book. Good readers among you instinctively know what I mean.
But, “Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all” (Shakespeare, from Henry VI).****
I defended the honor of the book against the machinations of the chubby, clunky e-reader, I’ve been something of a hypocrite. To confess:

  • Easily half of the books tacked three deep on my shelves are ones I haven’t read yet. Half of those are hardbacks or thick trade paperbacks the size and shape of toaster ovens. Of the books I have read, a third I haven’t picked up since, and aside from forming some kind of dusty monument to my literary cred, they aren’t doing anything than inspiring horror at the thought of moving one day.
  • While I’m current underemployed in the Pacific Northwest (with a dearth of free, wet afternoons), I’m guilty of hitting Amazon or Powells.com directly for books. They show up at my door and I don’t have to get wet. Or hit two or three places before I find it in stock. Or return them in two weeks.

Phew.

So, I maintained that nothing could replace a book—the experience or general ease. Until I saw a someone using a Kindle on the bus, that is. Now, I’m not sure I was entirely wrong. E-readers have, historically, been really heavy ,really expensive, fragile mini-laptops with poor screen resolutions, limited title availability, real uncertainties about future compatibility, and easy pickpocket-ability. To get material on to one, you’d have to synch up with your home computer and wait while it slowly churned and uploaded the contents (waaaaa!). And I could write a series of posts about digital rights management (e-books, MP3s, videos—we’re all encountered DRM problems one way or another).

But then I saw one, talked to the adorable owner (German exchange student glasses, ThinkGeek T-shirt, etc) and. Yeah. Well. The Kindle’s a nice size and weight, and quite readable. In fact, if I were drunk, with one eye closed, I could fool myself that it was a book. I didn’t get to smell it (even I have boundaries), and I’m sure that doesn’t compare. But the owner happily revealed that he was carrying the full text of three books (I already carry a massive day bag, and I can, optimistically, cram two books in there) , plus this month’s Atlantic and Nation (ad-free). He explained that he because he can carry so much text, click between them and buy on-the-fly (because it’s wireless), he’s tripled the amount he reads monthly (and spends on information, too).

After this chance meeting, I went home and googled the thing, of course. Granted, it’s far from perfect. It’s spendy as hell, and data transfer can add up (as well as the ease of impulse purchase: point, click, spend, download, satisfaction)—but we’re talking first generation technology here.

And Amazon, god I love/hate them so, already has 129,672 titles (as of today) available for the thing, and has assured the public that there won’t be any compatibility snags with subsequent models. Nor is it attempting to unseat the throne of the books. There’s lots of careful, seductive references to being a supplement to printed matter, an enhancement. The ability to triple your reading time while ensuring that you only wind up with toaster ovens you’ll refer to again. Personally, I have to admit, I’d be happier than a bird with a French fry to be able to carry multiple books along with me at all times. And really, as a writer, do I care what format in people read my work, if it means more will be read?
So now, I really, really, really want a Kindle. I’ve publicaly exposed my initial duplicity and reasons for trash talking ; some of which were valid. But I still feel weird about it.

I feel like I’ve become an anthiest after years attending church with my family, you know?
(but I have been a very, very, very good girl, Santa).
———————————–

*It’s true. After writing my last post about day jobs, it occurred to me that working for myself, for real, may balance some of the general uncertainties I warned of. We’ll be at www.4emphasis.com (named for a T.S. Eliot reference), building websites for small businesses, artsy types, and anyone else that wants to hire two pro weirdoes to create a gobsmackingly good website.

**A really interesting talk by Cory Doctorow—from 2004—states, more eloquently than I, the good points of e-publishing.

***My general apologies to vegans and the cow population at large, but the smell of quality leather is heavenly.

**** I also consider myself a good reader.

I’m respectably versed in classics, keep dutifully abreast of the newest releases, name my business after modern poetry references, and can pull Shakespeare quotes out of my ass for any occasion.

 

 

Leave a Reply