JEK
Senior Insider
JANUARY 3, 2010, 10:00 AM ET
What 2010 Will Be Like: Conversations With Your E-Book (Essay)
Wall Street Journal
What will 2010 bring in the way of culture, media, world events, economic matters, technology and Tiger-sized scandals? Speakeasy asked several writers to offer their thoughts on the coming year. The predictions range from a vigorous defense of the book to the resurgence of a certain mustachioed ‘80s pop star. Over the next few days we’ll publish the results. You can read all of the 2010 essays here.
This year, like thousands of other Americans, I received an e-reader for Christmas. After playing around with it for about an hour, I purchased my first book and began to read. Despite my objections to the entire concept of electronic reading, I found the reading experience too enjoyable to ignore. I liked it.
It bothered me all weekend. I made arguments against the thing to anyone who would listen. I tweeted about it, wrote in my journal. Finally, that Sunday night, as I eyed the wall of bookshelves in my darkened living room, I sensed the end coming.
I have always thought of my books as living, breathing objects. So if they could speak, I wondered, what would they say? It wouldn’t be the authors speaking. It would be the books themselves. Yes, this was a matter between readers and our beloved books. And so I imagined the books discussing the matter, one to the other, in the dark room:
“So what do you think about that new device she’s been carrying around?”
“O these pioneers! They kill me with their excess enthusiasm.”
“But this one is real, Lolita. I overheard her friend say she wants to go tell it on the mountain.”
“I must say I do feel crowded in here.”
“And so you’d prefer to die? I’d rather experience one-hundred years of solitude than see the bottom of a landfill.”
“Stop complaining, Portnoy. Nobody is going anywhere. We’ve been with her too long now.”
“Yes, but the bell is tolling. This is the end of something.”
And then they would hush. And those that could, would rest by leaning to the side, slip in that way they do when there is no bookend to squeeze them tightly into their assigned places, their deckle-edged pages and smooth pages alike hidden in the confines of the shelf, colors dimmed in the moonless night, silent as they awaited their inexorable doom. They knew not what came — would it be the teeth of the shredder? The cold sanctity of a museum? The musty basement of an old woman tenaciously clinging to a cultural antiquity? The only thing they knew was that the years would eventually give way to irreparable creases, yellowing pages, dust mites.
As I stood there, I imagined this conversation and felt, along with them, my own obsolescence.
Dolen Perkins-Valdez is the author of the novel “Wench.”
What 2010 Will Be Like: Conversations With Your E-Book (Essay)
Wall Street Journal
What will 2010 bring in the way of culture, media, world events, economic matters, technology and Tiger-sized scandals? Speakeasy asked several writers to offer their thoughts on the coming year. The predictions range from a vigorous defense of the book to the resurgence of a certain mustachioed ‘80s pop star. Over the next few days we’ll publish the results. You can read all of the 2010 essays here.
This year, like thousands of other Americans, I received an e-reader for Christmas. After playing around with it for about an hour, I purchased my first book and began to read. Despite my objections to the entire concept of electronic reading, I found the reading experience too enjoyable to ignore. I liked it.
It bothered me all weekend. I made arguments against the thing to anyone who would listen. I tweeted about it, wrote in my journal. Finally, that Sunday night, as I eyed the wall of bookshelves in my darkened living room, I sensed the end coming.
I have always thought of my books as living, breathing objects. So if they could speak, I wondered, what would they say? It wouldn’t be the authors speaking. It would be the books themselves. Yes, this was a matter between readers and our beloved books. And so I imagined the books discussing the matter, one to the other, in the dark room:
“So what do you think about that new device she’s been carrying around?”
“O these pioneers! They kill me with their excess enthusiasm.”
“But this one is real, Lolita. I overheard her friend say she wants to go tell it on the mountain.”
“I must say I do feel crowded in here.”
“And so you’d prefer to die? I’d rather experience one-hundred years of solitude than see the bottom of a landfill.”
“Stop complaining, Portnoy. Nobody is going anywhere. We’ve been with her too long now.”
“Yes, but the bell is tolling. This is the end of something.”
And then they would hush. And those that could, would rest by leaning to the side, slip in that way they do when there is no bookend to squeeze them tightly into their assigned places, their deckle-edged pages and smooth pages alike hidden in the confines of the shelf, colors dimmed in the moonless night, silent as they awaited their inexorable doom. They knew not what came — would it be the teeth of the shredder? The cold sanctity of a museum? The musty basement of an old woman tenaciously clinging to a cultural antiquity? The only thing they knew was that the years would eventually give way to irreparable creases, yellowing pages, dust mites.
As I stood there, I imagined this conversation and felt, along with them, my own obsolescence.
Dolen Perkins-Valdez is the author of the novel “Wench.”