On the Possibly Imminent Death of the Printed Word

As a voracious reader, and someone who spent the summer riding the T to work (which is a fabulous way to get 50 pages of free reading done, and even better, it doubles as a way to avoid those awkward stares that come on public transportation when people have nowhere else to look), I was recently asked by someone at my office why I don’t just purchase an Amazon Kindle. After all, it would save the hassle of always carrying a paperback with me, right?

Wrong. But let’s rewind and remind ourselves of what the Kindle is, for anyone who doesn’t know (and I’m not saying this is one of those “have you been living under a rock” situations; If you’ve never heard of the Kindle, you’re totally normal, and good for you).

What is the Kindle? That one is easy. It is a wireless book-reading device. You will never again need to purchase a hard copy of a text. No more books (or teachers, or dirty looks). You wirelessly connect to the Kindle store and buy any book you wish (Well, maybe not the Goosebumps books, kiddies, but nearly everything, from ‘high lit’ down to Tucker Max), for a set price of less than ten dollars. The book then magically (c’mon, let’s just agree to call it magic) downloads to your Kindle and you hurry off to India, Montreal, your neighbor’s wife’s bedroom, or wherever it is you plan to read the damn thing.

What does the Kindle represent for society? This is the far more difficult question. What the Kindle symbolizes is America’s growing dependence on what I will haplessly deem “e-content.” This dependence is indisputable—it exists, and it’s growing. But it’s a bit more hazy what the Kindle could represent for the future: bye-bye to printed media?

Already, seventy percent of Americans (I made that up, but it’s a lot, I’m sure) rely on the Internet for their news rather than a crinkly, inviting newspaper. On the Internet, you can watch a rap battle between Kanye West and Dwight Schrute. You can find out the precise numbers from the Iowa caucuses. You can purchase a fucking constellation. Now, you can also carry fifteen full novels in something thinner and slightly wider than a palm pilot.

For some people, this might be great. If that’s you, go ahead and add it to your ’08 Christmas list right now. For other people, this may represent the end of that satisfying feeling we get after our eyes arrive at the last sentence of a hefty novel, when we shut the book emphatically and breathe a sigh of achievement.

Yes, the Kindle can flip the page forward or back, and it features a non-abrasive display that (supposedly) mimics the properties of a printed page, and it can even dog-ear a passage for you. But it won’t lovingly wrinkle the cover from multiple readings, and it won’t pop out a full-sized tome that you can proudly slide onto your bookshelf for all to see.

The Kindles will not sprout legs and take over the country. No one will die, and our books will not cry to us from their shelves and whimper, “You betrayed me…”

I don’t care, though. I still feel concerned. To fear change, of course, is unreasonable. The rise of personal computers, vacuum-bots, and iPods has only done good things for humanity. Still, it’s easy to feel like we have reached the pinnacle of advancement: what new technology could possibly come around? On the iPhone you can make calls, watch TV, surf the web, and blast tunes. What else could there be, right? But there will be more. The Kindle itself is an example.

Consider this: When today’s senior citizens were teenagers, the Internet was inconceivable. If a modern-era Marty McFly were to cruise back to the 1950s and inform people that they will soon be able to type a message and have it instantly appear on a screen halfway across the world, they would laugh (probably a quaint, friendly, brownies-in-the-oven, 1950s kind of laugh).

I’m not some crazy reactionary who hates new technology. I just feel that if we stop to look around (I won’t dare type out that overused Ferris Bueller quote), we notice ways in which the current cultural scene is frighteningly isolated and individualized (just read Bowling Alone). As for me, I’ll clutch my paperbacks until the robots come to burn them up.

And in terms of “exciting new technology” coming up with new ways to fit all kinds of different media into one hand-held object, well, I think it’s fucking terrifying. Just see Wall-e if you doubt me, because those floating chairs from which you could live your entire life are a very real possibility. I mean, we’ve already created a society in which someone could conceivably never leave the house. Ever. You could cook all your meals or order them from takeout, work out/exercise on your personal gym, watch new(ish) movies via Netflix or OnDemand, and get a personal shopper to deliver any groceries or products you need. It’s disturbing.

I guess I just like the feel of a book in my hands, you know? I like the heft of something real, and I take pleasure in watching the thickness of the pages on the right diminish, as the pages on the left pile up and I get closer to the end. Oh, and I like when I’m on the T, or the bus, or an airplane, and numerous people sitting in my vicinity have a book out, and I can slyly gaze at the cover and raise an eyebrow if they’re reading Kafka or Marquez, or smirk pompously if the book is by Dean Koontz. This little social game is finished if every asshole on the train is holding a silver little box that conceals the title of their selection. Lame.

[UPDATE, 10/30/08]

And now, Oprah Winfrey has publicly endorsed the Kindle, thereby increasing its villainy tenfold. Thanks, Ope! I’m sure the Book Club ladies will appreciate the corporate plug.

~ by DBR on October 1, 2008.