The new world of books…

Not a weekend can pass without finding me inside of a bookstore. We have our favorite – a Borders out here in suburbia where we’ll spend an hour or two going thru the stacks, flipping thru the magazines, or just simply enjoying a cup of coffee and settling in for a view of the general public. Books to me are not just commodities – the “feel” of the book in my hands is just as important as the content it provides. And I’m nothing less than disappointed – and sometimes genuinely angry – when I pick up a book that I’d been looking for only to find the paper cheap without any color or weight and the binding stiff with glue, prone to cracking and breaking. This is often the case with poetry that is commercially printed and turns up in thin paperbacks, obviously produced at the lowest possible cost for the smaller audiences that buy it.

But I have to admit that The Book is under threat as we move from pulp based editions to digital media. The physical presentation of printed matter is not as important as the content being offered. Visit any of the chain bookstores which started the trend of turning themselves into non-lending libraries where people pull books off the shelf, read, munch on muffins, drink some espresso, then abandon the ravaged editions for the clerks to return to the shelves for the next assault. The independent booksellers, out of defense and competition, have followed suit. Books are more being taken advantage of rather than sold. The long term commitment is out – the on-site “quickie” is in.

I guess I feel as I do not only because of my respect for the written word but also for the process of actually creating a book. My career started in publishing, both in perfect- and case binding. Type was set on hot metal machines and set in forms that were then pressed against galleys, then page proofs, then repro for final camera work, plating and printing. Paper was always considered from the least expensive groundwoods to the more expensive free sheets, from offset to coated. Color and finish were important – white was just a generic term that included ivories and creams. The “tooth” of the paper from smooth to vellum, the basis weight and bulk of the sheet – gave the book it’s “feel” providing as much a sensory as visual experience.

And the covers – beyond the paperback to the cloth covered versions, with debossing and stamping, carefully sewn so it lay open flat on your lap without help. The extra touches were also there – a ribbon as a bookmark, headbands to finish off the raw edges of the spine top and bottoms, end papers with various colors and finishes for the opening and closing flourish.

There’s no lack of respect for books in my house notwithstanding their haphazard storage on shelves or in raggedly neat piles by bed, on tables or by the side of chairs. I used to write in the margins with pencil or highlight favored passages with highlighters but now use sticky notes torn into small pieces to mark the paragraphs I want to reread. My wife shamed me out of the habit of creasing down the corner of the page as a physical marker. And the times, when taking a break, I would place the book face down with it’s two sides spread out like wings only to be again admonished with the careful instruction on how to use a bookmark.

Cometh now The Kindle. At its most basic, like The Book, it’s a container. But at its aesthetic best, unlike the book, it’s a tin can. There’s a sameness to it. The first Kindle looks like the tenth Kindle which looks like hundreth or the thousandth. No matter what title, author, or story you’re reading. It’s weight is the same, its feel is the same throughout the many thousands of books you can download. Yes, it’s familiar especially to those who have grown up with, or have been nurtured by, an electronic screen from palm to notebook size and  beyond. Gone also is the crisp sound of turning a fresh page, or the satisfying thwump when you close the book after finishing. Now you’re just left with clicks and taps. And rather than the musky smell of paper and ink, only the acidic whiff of cleaning solution for a dusty LCD screen.

One other thing about books. You don’t need to plug them in or add some cylindrical or rectangular power source. A book keeps its power indefinitely. I can only imagine my wife’s retort, when my Kindle would go blank while reading in bed, and I would tell her that my batteries have gone dry.

But it’s late, and I’ve got newspapers to catch up on and need to add some oil to the lamps.

After all, you need good light to read by.

Harriet Backer, By Lamplight, 1890, Oil on canvas