Book:
" An item of personal property, Usually made of two boards bound in leather containing within them several groups of four or eight leaves of watermarked paper called "signatures", hand laced together with cotton twine and impressed with inked lead characters upon each leaf. Occasionally the repository of some information or idea important to the owner."
I have the misfortune to examine the latest in the bane upon civilization that technology has wrought, the "Electronic Book ." The "Kindle" the "Aluratek", the "Sony" the "Ectaco" and the pretender to the throne... The " Ipad". Like life's first kiss they are all and forever will be found wanting.
By my bedside and within these leather confines lie my friends Ishmael, Ahab, and the Great White Fish that belched Jonah on the West Bank of Palestine. The brothers Karamazov, and as I fall into the abyss, straight into it, head down and heels up, The feel of the impressed letters under my fingers or an occasional penciled note in the margins left by a previous reader, my book leaves the knowledge that like Frost's reaper, a worker gone before me has left a tuft of flowers for an unseen future friend or some winged creation of the almighty.
Somehow, even as I turn the pages of the Ipad to the simulated roll of the leaf from upper right to bottom left and wonder at how many programmer hours was dedicated to making it look like the real thing but never able to simulate the anticipation of the finger lifting the corner and sliding down the dangerous razor edge of real paper to end its travels at the exact moment that the eye transcribes the last word of the page onto whatever bits of binary brain data my internal computer requires. Somehow the backlighted LCD screen is too garish and rude for any comfort on the final minute of the day.
Some would suggest that electronic book is progress. That somehow it saves trees from the agony of being born. That the information within it and the idea behind is the crux of it... As artificial insemination is to sex - so is the electronic book to the bound leather volumes by my bed.
Yes, I have examined these volumes and found them wanting. Not just in color and texture. Not just in the comfort of holding my grandmothers bible or the tufts of flowers in the corners of some ancient volume, but in physical utility as well. Who will ever leave a bad e-volume in the outhouse, or kindle a flame in a snowbank with a Kindle.
Who indeed?
" An item of personal property, Usually made of two boards bound in leather containing within them several groups of four or eight leaves of watermarked paper called "signatures", hand laced together with cotton twine and impressed with inked lead characters upon each leaf. Occasionally the repository of some information or idea important to the owner."
I have the misfortune to examine the latest in the bane upon civilization that technology has wrought, the "Electronic Book ." The "Kindle" the "Aluratek", the "Sony" the "Ectaco" and the pretender to the throne... The " Ipad". Like life's first kiss they are all and forever will be found wanting.
By my bedside and within these leather confines lie my friends Ishmael, Ahab, and the Great White Fish that belched Jonah on the West Bank of Palestine. The brothers Karamazov, and as I fall into the abyss, straight into it, head down and heels up, The feel of the impressed letters under my fingers or an occasional penciled note in the margins left by a previous reader, my book leaves the knowledge that like Frost's reaper, a worker gone before me has left a tuft of flowers for an unseen future friend or some winged creation of the almighty.
Somehow, even as I turn the pages of the Ipad to the simulated roll of the leaf from upper right to bottom left and wonder at how many programmer hours was dedicated to making it look like the real thing but never able to simulate the anticipation of the finger lifting the corner and sliding down the dangerous razor edge of real paper to end its travels at the exact moment that the eye transcribes the last word of the page onto whatever bits of binary brain data my internal computer requires. Somehow the backlighted LCD screen is too garish and rude for any comfort on the final minute of the day.
Some would suggest that electronic book is progress. That somehow it saves trees from the agony of being born. That the information within it and the idea behind is the crux of it... As artificial insemination is to sex - so is the electronic book to the bound leather volumes by my bed.
Yes, I have examined these volumes and found them wanting. Not just in color and texture. Not just in the comfort of holding my grandmothers bible or the tufts of flowers in the corners of some ancient volume, but in physical utility as well. Who will ever leave a bad e-volume in the outhouse, or kindle a flame in a snowbank with a Kindle.
Who indeed?
