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
My little one whose tongue is dumb, whose fingers cannot hold to things, who is so mercilessly young, he leaps upon the instant things, I hold him not. Indeed, who could? He runs into the burning wood. Follow,...
I am not yours, not lost in you, Not lost, although I long to be Lost as a candle lit at noon, Lost as a snowflake in the sea. You love me, and I find you still A spirit beautiful and bright, Yet I am I, who long to be...
Read the text of Charlotte Bronte's poem about the death of her sister, as well as an analysis.