In about 10 years I will regret this. Maybe less…
I don’t doubt that marketing ploys and manipulation tactics will slowly break my political opposition to e-readers and netbooks.
I consider this my personal reminder. When the day comes and consumer temptation has almost broken my rational resistance, I can come here and find my sanity.
I am nook-less. The only kindle I possess is in the backwoods of Pennsylvania on a chilly fall evening. I have an ipod but, alas no ipad. My smart phone (which outsmarts me on a daily basis, a continuously humbling effect) automatically set me up with virtual copies of the necessities, Alice In Wonderland, Treasure Island, and The Three Musketeers. (Who decided these were the necessities?)
There is something…initimate… about holding a book in your hands and feeling the pages running through your fingers. Smelling the fresh print or dusty decomposition while you soak in every line creates an ambiance of reading. Flipping pages and weighing the horror as you get closer and closer to the middle, now the end, now the last 10, 5 pages in your hands. The act of cracking and beating each spine to hold your place or to be sure that secret lines aren’t buried past the text area. The front page curl that means that this book has truly be read, loved, and studied. Everytime you pick it up you see the cover art, the author’s name, and you flip through the accomplished part of your tale. No back lighting or touch tones to get in the way of the most important portal the world has to offer. No ready made highlights or note clips. You bend the corner of the pages, you press the pen frantically into the margin, you physically flip back a few chapters to check, re-read, rediscover.
Reading is natural. The leaves that have been printed and copied for your use. The human work applied to the novel is there in your hands. No pdfs, no digital downloads. Just you and the ideas navigating through this clip of life or product of imagination.
The taste of the page from the pointer finger you’ve licked a hundred times begging to solve, resolve, explore, exploit, find and be found.
The shelves of novels discovered and yet to be uncovered surrounding you like an embrace from walls and rooms. The harmony of picking up one story in your favorite chair but another from your bag on the daily commute. The zen of knowing that this simple act is organic. As organic as you can get in our contemporary time. No ads, gimmicks, flashing lights, batteries to be charged, not a single button waiting to be pressed.
Just you and the leaves bound together in search of a story. An escape and a mirror that is both product and creator.
I want to be offline and out of the office when I open the cover and hear the spine begin to buckle under my force. It makes me feel alive. It reminds me that I am a part of this universe, making waves and changes.
Reuse, Recycle, Borrow and Steal. Save pages and leaves. Take the time to search instead of letting something do it for you. FUCK NOOKS. READ BOOKS.
“Re-examine all you have been told…
Dismiss what insults your Soul.” Walt Whitman