"Really? Really, Mom? Not you too!" I groaned. As a lifelong bookworm, I view devices such as Kindles, Nooks and Sony eReaders which reduce the works of brilliant writers to texts that can be viewed on a tiny electronic screen as insults to literature.
I simply cannot imagine life without books actual, tangible, multi-paged books. I love the act of reading more than anything, but I also love the simple physicality of texts. I relish the feeling of soft pages beneath my fingertips and the aroma of new textbooks or old volumes emanating from the leaves. I adore scribbling in the margins and highlighting beautifully crafted passages. I treasure the way in which hard, sturdy covers seem to hug the pages in between, keeping the words and ideas safe.
"I know, I know," my mom said quickly, sighing. "I hate Kindles too." A college professor and fellow bibliophile, she agreed wholeheartedly. Ever since I was little, volumes upon volumes have been piled upon the cherry oak shelves lining the walls of her home office.
But despite her love of books, my mom took a practical approach, detailing a conversation in which her students bemoaned the price of textbooks and the inconvenience of consistently hauling around several pounds of reading material.
As she talked, I took one last sip of my coffee and stepped outside. I strolled down the street to the Dartmouth Bookstore to engage in one of my favorite activities meandering through the aisles and making mental lists of interesting books. The bookstore's collection appeared to be just as comprehensive as any internet database, with plentiful stacks of newly-released books and hearty piles of classics resting on each table.
As I strolled through New Fiction, Bestsellers and Historical Nonfiction, I pondered how, if I had a Kindle, I would no longer have this experience. I would simply log onto Amazon.com, click on the book I wanted to read and download it from somewhere in cyberspace.
"Absolutely not," I told my mom as I left the store.
"Okay," she assented.
Two days after this conversation, I logged onto The New York Times homepage and read that Borders Books and Music had announced its filing for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection and that over 200 of its stores would soon close.
I immediately panicked, picturing the loss of my summer break routine of procuring a new book from my hometown Borders and perching in the cafe to sip a cup of Seattle's Best Coffee as I started my book.
Thoughts of terror ran through my head: Was Borders' bankruptcy the first sign that e-readers were taking over? Was the experience of logging on Amazon.com going to replace the act of ambling through bookstore aisles?
As I finished reading the article, I could not shake the feeling that I was soon going to have to give up my aversion to e-readers and adapt.
As I made my way to class that day, I began to wonder why so many people seemed to be caught up in the Kindle craze.
Certainly, the low cost of eBooks is a big plus. After paying slightly over $100 for a Kindle, owners of e-readers then shell out only a couple of dollars for each Kindle eBook. I have to admit that this is an advantage I have made far too large a dent in my savings over the years by purchasing steeply-priced novels.
Kindle converts also argue that the screen is dulled, rendering the visual experience of reading an eBook fairly similar to that of reading the pages of an actual book. In addition, the immediacy with which owners of e-readers can receive a new book is certainly enviable.
These aspects of e-readers are definitely valuable, but are they enough to replace my beloved tangible pages and book smells? I remain unconvinced.
Will I someday suck it up and buy a Kindle? Most likely. Will I be happy about it? Probably not. Will my mom and I enjoy finding new books to download and sharing those we have just read? Probably.
But until every one of my beloved bookstores closes, I will continue to stroll through bookstores with my coffee, purchase real books and thumb through their soft pages a unique experience that simply cannot be replicated.
