One small letter divides the digital from the original, yet we cannot go on discussing eBooks as though they are the same as real books, in the same way that a CD gives the listener a different experience to an I-tunes EP. Because the way in which you access the material is different, the way in which you experience the material is also tailored through this process. I could talk to you about the texture, the smell and the joy of the book as an object d’art but that argument is old hat, and—honestly?—fairly unconvincing. For mass consumption, speed when accessing information has practically become a necessity; why should books be exempt from the national power surge? When the rest of the world is becoming more and more compact, smoother, with a chrome fitted cover, the question of why books should be ‘left behind’ is rightfully raised. For travelling the benefits are clear. For conferences, visiting family, any kind of journey, you can literally carry a library in your pocket. It’s the kind of technology a bibliophile dreams about, ultimate and practically unlimited access to reading material almost anywhere you go (depending on wifi access of course).
For mass consumption, speed when accessing information has practically become a necessity
However if practicality is the priority here, the book remains a strong contender. I can buy a book with cash; I can buy one practically anywhere. I can carry it, spill things on it, I can lose it and the world will not end. With an eBook, the ramifications of losing your beloved device are vast. It is not merely a single book; it is a multiplicity of books. You are unable to buy an eBook without ensuring that first you have registered with a company, and so the implications are the same as a phone contract: you have to tie yourself down. If I lose a Kindle I lose an entire library and a hefty investment; if I lose a book I’ve lost a couple of pounds and a single read.
Yes you’re never short of a read when hooked to the network, but is this a good thing? Like any device, the temptation to become permanently locked in raises its head. While I admittedly finish my weary paperback on the beach by the first few hours it leaves me time to digest what it is I have actually read, to enjoy the surroundings around me, to relish the moments in which those words have been fed into my brain and treasure them. Without the constant stream of words I can engage with the real world. I pause to see ‘the long line of spray’ as Mathew Arnold put it, or like Emily Bronte stand with ‘raptured eye,/Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear’. One of the joys of literature is its application to life, and the force of the environment around us that has fuelled the words we read. In a book, we live with words around us, crucially never letting them overwhelm us. Reading is one of the final ways in which we can dictate which words surround us, which words make it into the depths of our subconscious to stay as welcomed guests. But it is also the experience of these words that lingers and this is where the eBook may suffer.
In the end it’s the same with any development with technology: good but in controlled doses. Just because eBooks claim to save space, time and money, doesn’t mean we should be thrusting them into every child’s hand come school time. The joy particularly of children’s books is their physicality, the awe of a real pop-up book, of touchable illustrations, is just unrecognisable when translated to the digital alternative, and they shouldn’t be the same experience. You can’t read an eBook in the bath without an extreme sense of tempting fate (just wait—the waterproof Kindle will be out in no time), and when talking to my friend she describes herself as ‘75% through’ her latest read. E-books and E-readers change the way we talk about reading but also the habits we develop towards the act itself.
Yes you’re never short of a read when hooked to the network, but is this a good thing? Like any device, the temptation to become permanently locked in raises its head. While I admittedly finish my weary paperback on the beach by the first few hours it leaves me time to digest what it is I have actually read, to enjoy the surroundings around me, to relish the moments in which those words have been fed into my brain and treasure them. Without the constant stream of words I can engage with the real world. I pause to see ‘the long line of spray’ as Mathew Arnold put it, or like Emily Bronte stand with ‘raptured eye,/Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear’. One of the joys of literature is its application to life, and the force of the environment around us that has fuelled the words we read. In a book, we live with words around us, crucially never letting them overwhelm us. Reading is one of the final ways in which we can dictate which words surround us, which words make it into the depths of our subconscious to stay as welcomed guests. But it is also the experience of these words that lingers and this is where the eBook may suffer.
In the end it’s the same with any development with technology: good but in controlled doses. Just because eBooks claim to save space, time and money, doesn’t mean we should be thrusting them into every child’s hand come school time. The joy particularly of children’s books is their physicality, the awe of a real pop-up book, of touchable illustrations, is just unrecognisable when translated to the digital alternative, and they shouldn’t be the same experience. You can’t read an eBook in the bath without an extreme sense of tempting fate (just wait—the waterproof Kindle will be out in no time), and when talking to my friend she describes herself as ‘75% through’ her latest read. E-books and E-readers change the way we talk about reading but also the habits we develop towards the act itself.
Reading is one of the final ways in which we can dictate which words surround us, which words make it into the depths of our subconscious to stay as welcomed guests
E-readers fuel our developing restless disposition, further diminishing our increasingly shortening attention spans. Like the internet, the e-reader offers you a million possibilities; possibilities that you can switch to in a matter of seconds. Bored by the second page? Don’t persevere, just switch to something else! The difficulty of learning to read when we are young, even when we are older, is a struggle in which we all aspire to work through to the point where we can communicate and understand with ease. However this initial determination when it comes to making our way through a large novel is something we often find ourselves drawing on, often we’re told that a book has a ‘slow start’ but ‘really gets good later on’. As with most things in life the best things often don’t come easy and the most rewarding stories are often those that take time to develop; time that has become so precious to our carpe diem society that switching to a Wikipedia summary has become an almost acceptable substitute for the real deal. The Kindle Fire in one of the latest renovations of the Kindle-clan combines the functions of a tablet with that of the e-reader, creating even more distractions to lure you away from the actual process of reading. Yes the device makes it easier to buy books, but at the same time it makes them easier to drop. E-readers are subject to battery failure. I am subject to nothing.
When buying a physical book there are no rules, I can do whatever I like with my book, from giving it away as a gift, lending it or even selling it on; as an English student I thrive off libraries and the second hand bookstore industry. Sadly this kind of reading community, which encourages sharing literature, is horribly restricted in the modern digital frame. Lending books becomes a nightmare with eBooks, breaking the bonds that we are often able to create with sharing reads. A book left sitting on the table in my house is free for anyone to consume, one locked within my mother’s Kindle is private property.
When buying a physical book there are no rules, I can do whatever I like with my book, from giving it away as a gift, lending it or even selling it on; as an English student I thrive off libraries and the second hand bookstore industry. Sadly this kind of reading community, which encourages sharing literature, is horribly restricted in the modern digital frame. Lending books becomes a nightmare with eBooks, breaking the bonds that we are often able to create with sharing reads. A book left sitting on the table in my house is free for anyone to consume, one locked within my mother’s Kindle is private property.
Brands inevitably make more money if they create a market in which their consumers remain trapped to a particular server
Amazon eBooks are only accessible on an Amazon e-reader, and other devices make a similar profit from this kind of exclusion; like the Apple of the reading world, except of course Apple now has its own brand of iBooks too. Brands inevitably make more money if they create a market in which their consumers remain trapped to a particular server where their device functions, so obviously similar companies are popping up to provide their alternative guide to a new reading experience with a new consignment of reading restraints, terms and conditions (take note of the ‘nook’ brand now sold in Blackwells) .
But I lie; Amazon readers can share books for the huge span of 14 days, ample time for their Amazon Prime friend to read (and I use the singular as a) you very well may only have one friend able to afford a costly Amazon Prime account and b) a book can only be leant out just the one time). Lucky for you Amazon has already vetoed the friends you can choose for the privilege by only allowing this pleasure to coincide with the ownership of an Amazon Prime account: charming. The rules for libraries attempting to purchase eBooks aren’t kind either, limited leasing access meaning a library may have to pay for several versions of a single eBook in order to lend it out; a costly and deeply unfair procedure.
But why exactly does the ‘e’ in ‘eBook’ make digital content an exception to price rules? Why is it when ‘lending’ an eBook you essentially have to pay for the book again when with an original you can lend out a single copy several hundred times without a penny more? Why is the digital world of reading so apparently accessible, and yet also so closed off? One might be wary of eBooks simply because the ‘e’ often stands for ‘exclusive’ rather than ‘everybody’s’. A powerful distinction that keeps the world of ‘books’ and ‘eBooks’ strikingly apart.
But I lie; Amazon readers can share books for the huge span of 14 days, ample time for their Amazon Prime friend to read (and I use the singular as a) you very well may only have one friend able to afford a costly Amazon Prime account and b) a book can only be leant out just the one time). Lucky for you Amazon has already vetoed the friends you can choose for the privilege by only allowing this pleasure to coincide with the ownership of an Amazon Prime account: charming. The rules for libraries attempting to purchase eBooks aren’t kind either, limited leasing access meaning a library may have to pay for several versions of a single eBook in order to lend it out; a costly and deeply unfair procedure.
But why exactly does the ‘e’ in ‘eBook’ make digital content an exception to price rules? Why is it when ‘lending’ an eBook you essentially have to pay for the book again when with an original you can lend out a single copy several hundred times without a penny more? Why is the digital world of reading so apparently accessible, and yet also so closed off? One might be wary of eBooks simply because the ‘e’ often stands for ‘exclusive’ rather than ‘everybody’s’. A powerful distinction that keeps the world of ‘books’ and ‘eBooks’ strikingly apart.