ReKindled

I am a reader.  I have always loved reading.  It has been over 38 years since I first learned to read, and yet I remember wanting to learn to read.  The excitement that came with putting the words on the page together to make sentences, that made a story, was as important to me as the adventures of the stories themselves.  I could not wait to read to myself, my parents, and anyone else who would listen to me.  I read poems.  I read books.  I read magazines.  I read billboards and street signs while riding in the car with my dad.  I loved to read.

So Ed gave me a Kindle for Christmas last year.  This nifty little electronic device allows me to “instantly” buy stories and store them in a cloud or on the device.  I am not sure how many stories it will hold, but I am sure it is a lot.  It is a lot more than my bookshelf already holds.

I still have four of the first books I learned to read on my own.  They were my favorites, and as such, they are worn, broken, tattered and taped together.  The Giving Tree was the first book that I repeatedly took out of the library with my very own library card.  I would return it only long enough to allow it to re-enter circulation so that I could borrow it again.  The Story of Babar the Little Elephant was my first introduction to the animal that would steal my heart and start a collection obsession that would last into adulthood.  Its reversible cleverness brought the story of Heidi to life when I flipped the book upside down.  Under a Mushroom was more about my aunt’s love for me and family jokes gone viral, than it was about trolls.  In addition, On Beyond Zebra may be one of Dr. Seuss’ lesser-known works to most, but it is the first one I knew, read and memorized.  Only Green Eggs and Ham is a close second for me.

These books that sit on my bookcase are reminders of the child I once was and the stories that inspired me to read, and ultimately to write.  They sit, they get dusty, they are dusted, and they sit some more.  They have been packed into moving boxes and unpacked at least 8 times in the last 20 years.  I will never part with them.  Yet, it would be a challenge for me to scoop these motivators up each time I want to change my venue and find inspiration elsewhere.  It would be much easier to store these stories somewhere else so that I could access them with the tap of a fingertip…

Ahhh…the Kindle…

The Kindle is a perfectly compact little machine that makes multiple novels portable, without the use of a tote bag or a backpack.  The Kindle feeds the fire of a reading frenzy at 1AM when the story is over and the reader does not want to stop:  “Books,” “Store,” enter the title in the search bar, and finally “Buy for $price indicated.”  With as few as 5 or 6 taps, and in less than 1 minute, I went from finishing The Hunger Games to starting Catching Fire.  It did not matter that I could not find my library card, nor did I need to be put on a waiting list for the highly sought after title.  I did not need to stop and get gas for the trip to Barnes & Noble in Millbury or pay the toll on the MA Pike, each way.  I did not have to wait for business to open at 10AM and I did not have to wait in line to pay for my purchase.  I silently and instantly satisfied my continued reading desire while lying in bed next to my husband who slept through it all.  The Kindle delivers.

So why don’t I “treasure” my Kindle?  It is not the first thing I grab when I’m headed out the door and I know I will have a few minutes to spare waiting in the car for one of my children to come out of practice.  I do not shove it in my bag in hopes of stealing a few minutes to read while at the doctor’s office.  I do not bring it with me to my parents’ house when we go for dinner.  I do not have an urgency to get back to it, hold on to it, and keep it near at all times.  I get to it when I can.  Therefore, it is no wonder that I still enjoy reading a book.  Not a story on a screen, where I swipe or tap to get to the next “page” of text, but an actual book:  with a cover I can touch, pages I can turn, and a body that I can sit on the shelf with the other works of literature that I find worthy of keeping.  A book.

My wooden bookshelf is the museum of my literary interests and conquests.  Three out of four walls in my study can accommodate the un-sanded, 5-shelf bookcase I made with my dad over 20 years ago, yet I purposely positioned my homemade bookshelf across from the door.  I chose the wall opposite the door because as soon as I walk into, or pass by the room, I can take in all her glory.  Initially built to display my pachydermatous collection of said animal figures, it now holds no more than six.  The college course-required books that neatly took up the bottom shelf years ago have been whittled down to the ones I actually read, and liked, along with a few that are still unread, but I know I “should” read.  Complementing my childhood treasures are the titles my children have called “favorite” and the selections I have chosen to read as an adult.  I now have nearly two shelves of books, each one a notch on my belt for a paper passion.  Passion.  I adored each of those books that I read and chose to keep.  If I did not love it when I read it, then I do not keep it anymore.  Each time I look at their spines lined on the shelf I re-live the excitement of anticipating a quiet moment to read just one more page, or get to the end of a chapter.

I do not find myself looking longingly at my Kindle.  Neither a Kindle nor a Nook, or any other e-reader, will show me instantly what I have spent my time doing and enjoyed.  The carousel on my electronic device only holds so many titles and if the unit is not charged then I must wait to view my selections.  I do not reminisce when I pick up my Kindle.  I go straight to the work in progress and pick up where I left off.  I do not swipe through the carousel or down the virtual bookshelf to remind myself of a great story.  I have read some very interesting, enjoyable, thought-provoking literature since getting my Kindle.  Nevertheless, I have not read anything that has made me feel sad and sorry that it was over when I have made that last tap on the right side of the screen.

The Kindle makes me long to hold a book.

My Kindle does not have a smell like the pages of my books.  I cannot fan the pages of Kindle Fire to keep the burning embers of reading passion alive.  I cannot look at the top of the Kindle to see where my bookmark is placed and instantly know that I am halfway through the story.  Although I can pass my Kindle along to someone else to read what I have read, I am not likely to do so.  If I did that, I would not have access to the other stories downloaded there that I might be inclined to read in its absence.

Upon my death, no one is going to go through a box of my belongings and be happy to place my Kindle on their bookshelf or on their nightstand, knowing that I treasured its contents.  They will not be taking for themselves a little piece of literature that meant so much to me, like the green-spined complete works of Charles Dickens that I acquired when my aunt died, that sit atop the bookcases behind me right now.  They simply will not do it for two reasons.  For one, there is nothing “romantic” about an electronic device.  It may be fast, convenient, handy, space saving and even “retro” at the time I die, but a Kindle is not going to bring anyone to tears at the thought of all that I read when I was young.  More importantly, they probably will not be able to read it anyway.  Either the screen will have lit its last day or the device will be so far out of technology sync with the rest of the world at the time that it will be obsolete and inaccessible.

A book can always be picked up and read.  A well-preserved book can be passed along to someone else.  Recently there was debate in Boston over the sale of one of the first books printed and published in British North America.  The Bay Psalm Book owned by Old South Church and held for safekeeping at the Boston Public Library is one of the first series of books printed in Cambridge in 1640.  This book is over 370 years old and it is still readable!  Paper is vulnerable to water, fire, air and time.  Yet paper and ink have the power to stifle, eradicate and outlive technology.  The fragility of paper will STILL transcend the longevity of the Kindle.  Technology is ever changing and always out-dating itself.  Paper is always paper, made from wood or fabrics.  It is natural.  It is timeless.

This timelessness also keeps me from calling what I read on my Kindle a “book.”  I refer to stories I have read, not books I have read.  It just does not seem right.  A book has pages.  A book has a cover and a spine.  By definition, a book is a series of written, printed, or even blank pages bound together in a volume.  A Kindle reflects none of these qualities.  A digital rendering of a cover and multiple pages of text does not a book make.

Maybe my Kindle versus book dilemma is simpler than I have laid it out.  Maybe I just have not found the right title to “Whispernet” its way on to my Kindle.  Maybe it is truly about quality reads, and not digital versus paper reads.  Technology affords me an immediate and convenient way to satiate my reading desire, while tradition blesses me not only with the magnificence of a well-told tale, but the physical pleasure of holding it in my hands as it comes to life.

 I will have to give it more thought after I finish the paperback book that I bought recently at the book fair at my children’s school.  And if the book re-Kindles my passion for the story told, I will keep both Kindle and books at hand.  Like pencil and ink, paper and screen each serves its own purpose.