Resistance is Futile? State of the Kindle

(Image borrowed from here)

A few weeks ago I walked into my usual Chinese place for lunch and the proprietor immediately inquired: Where's your book?  She's seen me walk in every week for the last six years and get comfortable with a book while waiting on my order. I hadn't brought one for the same reason that when I went on vacation, I decided to not carry any books as part of my pack-light-and-avoid-checking-bags policy.  I had my Kindle in my carry on bag, and as I stood in the Chinese restaurant, I carried a small library in my pocket -- my phone, equipped with the Kindle app.

Seven years ago I did a worried  thinking-out-loud post called "Go Go Gadget Literature?" on e-books and e-readers, detailing my concerns about electronic readers. Five years later, I sheepishly revealed that I'd recently purchased a Kindle fire, mostly to use as a tablet, and had been dabbling with reading books online. I called that one "You Still Can't Call Me Inspector Gadget".  I'd become interested in a few titles which were online-only, partially because of NetGalley.  Things have changed, however. I just did a tally, and approximately 41 books from last year were read via my Kindle. That's less than a third, but seven months into 2018, e-books account for nearly half of my reading. That's quite a sea change, and one prompted by frequent sales of Kindle books, the relative paucity of nonfiction in my area (I have to drive an hour and a half to a library with enough nonfiction to keep me busy), and my growing ease with android and iphone systems. Seven years ago I had never touched a smartphone; now people hand their devices to me and ask for help  -- which is how I learned to use them to begin with.

It's not that I've stopped liking physical books, far from it: they fill my rooms and are scattered around my car. I'm still buying them,  cruising Amazon on a daily basis looking for interesting old or new titles  to be had for cheap . But my space is limited,  the Kindle offers me frequent  steals, and in the three years I've had it, I've yet to drop or damage my device, or suffer a book being deleted mysteriously by Amazon. I paid a $15 premium on mine at the time to avoid seeing any splash advertisements on the wake screen, so all of my  original objections have never applied.

Ironically, as my work has made me both comfortable and experienced with smartphones and related devices,  I've grown to appreciate my Kindle Fire less as a tablet (which is why I originally bought it!).  Kindles use a modified version of Android that is divorced from the Google play store, so a lot of Android-compatible content isn't available.  My particular Kindle model also doesn't have any way to expand its memory, so it may be good that its app library is limited.  Earlier in the year I purchased a 2016 flagship smartphone, principally as a camera but equipped with a 64 GB microSD card for photographs and such. Surprisingly, it's taken over as my e-reader of choice, so that despite my considerable use of Kindle as a software platform, my Kindle device itself has been relegated to marginal use, not being touched for weeks at a time.

Has the use of a Kindle changed me as a reader? Am  I more distracted, less focused?  I honestly don't think so.   I realize this is subjective, but I think I behave the same way while reading a book on my phone as I do reading a real one.  I don't stop reading mid-page to check notifications,  both out of deliberate choice (I ignore the itch to check email) and because I've arranged things so I won't be distracted. I turn do not disturb mode on, for instance, as I despise notifications and disable them at every opportunity, whether I'm using my phone or my computer.

It may be too early to speculate, but I think my e-reading activity has leveled off,  My phone has had a few months to do its magic, and while I definitely use it more than my old emergency-use  cellphone (which was usually lost, or dead, and only rarely on my person), I still haven't become a tech-zombie, shuffling around in public and staring downwards. My phone stays in my pocket until I decide it's time to read, or time to practice Spanish, or when I need to make a call. (This is rare, as I don't like phone calls and keep my phone on mute)  I've 'assimilated' my phone without becoming a drone myself. So...resistance isn't futile, so long as you're a crank to begin with.

You Still Can't Call me Inspector Gadget

A few years ago I penned a few thoughts  ("Go Go Gadget Literature?") distancing myself from e-readers and e-books, then exploding in popularity. A recent post by Lori at Should Be Reading made me think of it, and for good reason: I've had a Kindle Fire for just about a year now.  "What?" cry you, "Have the mighty fallen?!"

Eh. It's not so dramatic.  I bought it as a tablet, really. Perhaps I was already on the slippery slope, for a few months prior to that I'd downloaded Kindle for PC so that I could read the occasional supremely cheap or free ebook on my computer.  It was an easy step, really, to buy the gadget and since it was my 30th birthday...why not?   In the year since, the Kindle and I have gotten along tolerably well:  last year, I read no less than eleven titles on it. (The first? Kindle Fire HD for Dummies, naturally.)  That's something on the order of 7% of my reading from last year, though, so my pursuit of real books hasn't been diminished in the least. On the contrary, the ability to zap previews of books to the Kindle has led to my buying the real deal.  The kindle allowed me to plow through the entire Narnia series within a couple of weeks despite some rascal having later books in the series checked out. So far, I have used my Kindle only for exceptionally cheap e-books, books received for free via the kindle lending library or my own, or (as is the case this year) NetGalleys.  I don't carry my Kindle about with me, for fear the thing will drop or be stolen. I don't have that problem with real books; those I own are subject to all manner of abuse, riding with me in cars and taking hits from the slings and arrows of everyday life. I have so far avoided the biggest peril of e-books, distraction. If I get an itch to check my email, I make it wait until I hit the end of a chapter.  Some genres lend themselves well toward the e-reader; I thought Spam Nation an appropriate e-book read, but I try to avoid reading 'real' literature on it (classics, for instance). Literature should have the same weight in the hand as it does in the mind, and it's best to take it with a drink. Tea, perhaps, or my favorite vice, coffee.

 So, while I have embraced the new, the old is in no wise threatened. At least...not by me, but then I do call myself a young fogey.

Christmas Reading

Today the Christmas spirit finally found me. Usually we embrace immediately after Thanksgiving, but the weather has been unseasonably warm lately. Sunday brought with it grey skies and a constant drizzle, though, which is partially inconvenient (for someone who walks in the morning and evening), but wholly appropriate. Today as I left a book club discussion, I embraced the cold air with a spring in my step and Christmas tunes on my mind.  I went for a downtown stroll and visited the library, where -- I thought -- I'd pick up A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens. I'm enormously fond of it. Someone checked it out before me, though, so happy reading to them.  Feeling inexplicably mirthful, I ran up the steps to the library's upstairs and headed for the kids' section, where I treated myself to two Harry Potter novels and.....Redwall, by Brian Jacques.  None of them have a thing to do with Christmas, but they fit my mood -- one of whimsy, looking forward to experiencing more of the magical buzz I get around this time of the year.

I'm also in a mood for some serious reading, so I'm sticking my nose timidly into Brian Greene's The Fabric of the Cosmos. If it is too much for me I will finish Galileo's Finger, which I've not forgotten about.

Stock Phrases

Tonight I stumbled upon a list of "Top 20 Most Annoying Book Reviewer Cliches". I figured I would be guilty of some of them, and that suspicion was confirmed.  As I've been trying to move from informal comments to more helpful reviews, it looks like I shall have to consult my Strunk and White for tips on how not to be so predictable!

Granted, it's not as though the Examiner is the final authority on writing book reviews. Some phrases are unquestionably bland (like "readable", a phrase I flinch at using even though I keep doing it), but others may be simply overused.  The list below is copied in full from the site.
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1. Gripping
2. Poignant: if anything at all sad happens in the book, it will be described as poignant
3. Compelling
4. Nuanced: in reviewerspeak, this means, "The writing in the book is really great. I just can't come up with the specific words to explain why."
5. Lyrical: see definition of nuanced, above.
6. Tour de force
7. Readable
8. Haunting
9. Deceptively simple: as in, "deceptively simple prose"
10. Rollicking: a favorite for reviewers when writing about comedy/adventure books
11. Fully realized
12. At once: as in, "Michael Connelly's The Brass Verdict is at once a compelling mystery and a gripping thriller." See, I just used three of the most annoying clichés without any visible effort. Piece of cake.
13. Timely
14. " X meets X meets X": as in, "Stephen King meets Charles Dickens meets Agatha Christie in this haunting yet rollicking mystery."
15. Page-turner
16. Sweeping: almost exclusively reserved for books with more than 300 pages
17. That said: as in, "Stephenie Meyer couldn't identify quality writing with a compass and a trained guide; that said, Twilight is a harmless read."
18. Riveting
19. Unflinching: used to describe books that have any number of unpleasant occurences -- rape, war, infidelity, death of a child, etc.
20. Powerful

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Go Go Gadget Literature....?

When I step into this library, I cannot understand why I ever step out of it.

- Marie de Sevigne

Change is inescapable. As a student of history, I've realized that nothing, no matter how wonderful or precious, endures forever. We as people change with our experiences; life, language, and landscapes continue to evolve with use and time,  and even the stoutest mountains melt away under the withering of wind and rain. I realize this the more I get older, and it's something of a solace: the wisdom in knowing that things must change allows me to make peace with the fact that the change is happening.


Even so, the rising popularity of e-readers makes me thump my nonexistent cane on the ground, scowl at the nonexistent kids on my lawn, and yell "You kids get those gadgets off my grass and outta my life!".  The philosopher in me knows that if books wither away under the barrage of e-readers with cloyingly cute names like 'Kindle' and 'Nook',  the circumstances of such a defeat are out of my control, and thus not fit to get bothered about. I was a book-lover before I was a philosopher, though, and I can no more  accept the decline of books than I can watch them be burned at the hands of those incapable of appreciating the ideas they contain.

Part me believes, and cries in a protest borne of fear about books' potential decline, that those who prefer electronic literature have failed to appreciate books as an art form. This is a feeling, a reaction. I know that to some people, a book is just an object with ideas in it and they can get those ideas from another object, this one with a glowing screen, just as easily. But books aren't just objects to me, they're....beautiful wonders. I love the feel of books, the smell of ink and paper, the texture of those pages, the stylized fonts whose ink gleams in the light. I enjoy them all the more as they age -- as the pages yellow, as they take on the scents of owners and bookcases, as they acquire a history of their own. I keep books all around me -- piled around my home, in my car. They're on my person, if I travel -- tucked into my jeans or jacket pockets. I'm a genuine bibliophile.

I like books too much to accept substitutes, which is all e-readers will ever be to me. I'm told they can hold hundreds of books at once, and I'll admit that's a great convenience. It's also something of a liability, though, a case of putting one's eggs all in one basket. E-readers can be broken, fried,  or otherwise rendered inoperative -- and repair of electronic gadgets is increasingly difficult, if not impossible in the case of those oh-so-vulnerable LCD screens. Amazon can simply delete the books on your Kindle if it desires -- and it has. It's possible that book publishers will send you another e-reader to ensure you continue buying their stock, but it is not wise to count on the charity of those who seek profit. As for me, I like my libraries to have physical form -- I like holding a book in my hands, turning the pages, feeling that physical presence, knowing that it is real. It can't be deleted or corrupted by a software glitch. It's there. It can be destroyed, but it will last longer than me and can endure things I cannot. I wouldn't survive a fall from a skyscraper, for instance, but a book can. Its cover will be battered and perhaps a bit dirty, but it will survive.

It remains to be seen, however, if books will survive humanity's obsession with immediacy and convenience. Maybe it's the neo-Luddite in me, but I've stopped being convinced by claims to convenience, for all too often authenticity loses out in the bargain. In the United States, downtown streets have been turned into boarded-up ruins for convenience's sake, as the glories of the free market prefer box stores in the suburbs staffed by unhappy peons to corner groceries. Once upon a time, Broad Street in my hometown (Selma, AL) used to have pedestrians. Every building had a bustling business in it, and above those buildings were more offices and even apartments where people lived. I never knew this until I started talking to people who lived in those days and began reading books -- for now, a walk down Broad Street reveals only a scattering of operating shops. The upstairs are boarded up, and many of the buildings are condemned for lack of maintenance. No one lives there anymore: those buildings have lost their souls.

That, I fear, may one day happen to literature -- that it will lose its soul and become nothing more than data tucked away inside a glowing gadget composed of a plastic case and rubber buttons. E-readers have a lot going for them, and I'll admit to using GoogleBooks to find a specific passage containing choice quotations instead of doing a page-by-page search myself. Perhaps the conversion of literature into digital information is unavoidable. Perhaps one day, as in Star Trek, those who hold on to bound books will be seen as idiosyncratic intellectuals stuck in the past, holding on to antiquities -- but if that's the case, I intend on being one of them.

"To each his own, Number One." 

The title is a reference to those old  Inspector Gadget cartoons starring a man whose suit can spawn virtually every tool he needs, from helicopters to grappling hooks.