In praise of the e-book

Hardcovers--why do people feel they're superior to paperbacks and e-books? I hate them. They're too heavy and bulky to carry in your purse, so you never have them with you when you want them. Their bindings are stiff, and the pages don't open fully, and they're unwieldy to hold-- hard on the eyes and arms and neck and hands. Plus they're expensive. And if you buy them secondhand or borrow them from the library, they're liable to harbor mites, lice, or bedbugs. Why would anyone want such a thing--in their hands or in their house?

 The e-book, by contrast, is lightweight, totable, proppable, searchable, sanitary, and comfort itself to hold. And perhaps most miraculous, if you have a library card, you can hear about a book and in seconds grab it from the ether and begin to read it--before the title drops from your memory. And when you're done, you do not need to find a space to store it or remember to return it or find someone to pass it on to. It just disappears itself in the most accommodating way.

 There are many things to deplore about the modern digital life, but there is at least one thing to extol: King Kindle.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Early days

It's been like the first days of a school year—with clothes that feel starchy and bright, and careful courtesy to and from the teacher.  There are no fingerprints on the walls of our new apartment, and we are fastidious about returning our belongings to their places and sponging up spills and fixing small breakages. We wear bright, somewhat artificial smiles to greet our super and doormen and neighbors. We are nice to the max. It feels a little phony, but we want to start off on the right foot. Or the left foot. Or whatever foot everyone else uses. We want to march in sweet synchrony.  There are moments of euphoria as Other and I remark to each other on the profound silence, which continues to stun us two months after leaving the cacophany of NoHo. I sometimes wonder if anyone else actually lives here, it's so quiet in the wee hours—no 3 a.m. revelers screeching beneath our window, no drunken cell-phone breakups broadcast into our bedroom, no bass beats booming through...
Read more

Like Downton Abbey but different

The appeal of Downton Abbey for most Americans is its quaintness—nostalgia for a bygone world. But for a certain class of New Yorkers, Downton Abbey is aspirational. Perhaps we don't long for footmen and butlers and maids and valets. But doormen and supers? Hell, yes. After living for 35 years in a little bohemian self-managed building, Other and I had finally had enough of flushing boilers and fixing water heaters and shoveling sidewalks and picking up litter. A couple months ago, we left our old Bowery neighborhood and moved to the Upper West Side, where rain is just weather and not a gutter crisis. We expected to have buyer's remorse, known hereabouts as the New York surprise—the discovery that whatever due diligence you did was inadequate and your building turns out to be infested with bed bugs or roaches or black mold or totally insane neighbors or ...  In any case, it hasn't happened—so far. We've seen no vermin. And the neighbors seem sane. There's a ...
Read more

I feel your pain--and everyone else's too

Empathy—everyone thinks it’s so wonderful! I’m often told I’m an empathetic person, as if it’s a compliment. But truthfully, no one realizes how deeply empathetic I am, and what a blight it is. I would trade in my empathy for a good salty vice—gluttony, selfishness, sloth, whatever. According to Merriam-Webster, empathy is “the ability to relate to another person’s pain vicariously, as if one has experienced that pain themselves.” (I’m going to ignore the noun/pronoun--“one”/”themselves”--number disagreement.) The thing is, I experience another’s pain exactly as if it were my own. And therein lies the problem. There is a lot of pain in this world, and some days I think I feel it all: I am stressed out by the predicament of my friend who has an instant to pack a lifetime and a loftful of accumulation into a modest-sized new apartment. I feel her anxiety about whether she can afford the new place. I feel the distraction of my friend whose beloved nonagenarian aunt died leaving her to dis...
Read more