My Book Doesn't Freeze
It Just Makes Me Sneeze
Lord! when you sell a man a book you don't sell just twelve ounces of paper and ink and glue - you sell him a whole new life. Love and friendship and humour and ships at sea by night - there's all heaven and earth in a book, a real book.
Growing up, I was one of those nerdy children who looked forward to going to my local library. From day one, my mother had instilled in me a great love of books and all of the knowledge that could be acquired from opening one. I loved looking at the shelves and shelves and rooms and rooms of books. I used to dream of the day when I could say I had read each and every one of those books.
When I listen to people talk about their ebook reader or Kindle, I have a difficult time keeping my mouth shut. Being raised how I was, I could never use one of those devices. While I understand the convenience, it’s just too impersonal for me.
I imagine that people felt the same way I do when the printing press was invented. With this invention handwritten books became a thing of the past. People must have struggled with how impersonal it was. While it allowed for books to be mass produced which made them cheaper and more accessible, for someone who had only read books written by hand, it was difficult to accept. Yet, accept they eventually did.
In my opinion, these gadgets can never truly replace books. They are popular, but I’d like to think they are just an expensive fad ($300.00?!?). Looking at a Kindle, you see no history. You don’t smell the years it’s been on the shelf. You can’t feel the hands of the people who have borrowed it since its birth. When you hold your Kindle, you are holding a young, electronic piece of plastic that only existed years ago in the world of Star Trek. Given the choice between using something that could freeze on me at the most inconvenient moment and using something with dusty pages that makes me sneeze, I’ll pick the latter. I don’t mind keeping the tissue people in business.
More by this Author
Hast thou named all the birds without a gun; Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk; At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse; Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust; And loved so well a high behavior In...
Read the text of Charlotte Bronte's poem about the death of her sister, as well as an analysis.
At some point in our lives, we’ve all known someone who made every itch, pain and sniffle sound like it was the end of the world. They believed they were experiencing something unique. Everyone around them had to...