New fangled technology....

I'm back from successfully dropping #1 and #2 off at my father's in Florida, ready to embark on my annual stint as a mother-of-one. Unfortunately, unlike in years past, Little Man now has a will of his own and daily napping is not always guaranteed, so I will not be enjoying two straight weeks of running whatever errands I need to, grabbing coffee two or three times a day and napping twice a day myself. I will, however, still be reading. A lot.

I kicked off my reading feast on the flight down to Florida. Thank you, thank you, Jetblue for your individual video screens and live broadcast of both Cartoon Network, so #2 could watch Spongebob Squarepants and #1 could watch a rerun of last season's Project Runway finale*. I had armed myself with three library books, not sure which I would be in the mood to read, and had the sore arms to prove it (it was either from the collective weight of my literature, or from the seventy-five coloring books and gallon-sized Ziploc bag of crayons that the girls, of course, did not use). After the girls were settled and we had reached cruising altitude, I cracked my first book and noticed all the Kindle screens coming to life around me. What did I feel? Envy at the ease with which one can tote one of these lightweight devices without dislocating a shoulder? Awe at the number of titles one can access with just the click of a button? Disgust at the weathered, plastic-covered tome sitting in my own lap? Nope. I sort of felt sad.

Sure, the Kindle has a decided cool factor, it would go much better with one of my many imagined "meeting in the city" outfits, as would a handbag not made of washable fabric and sunglasses not bought at Target, but this piece of technology is missing the tactile experience of reading. For example, having all of these titles to choose from, floating out there, amorphous in cyberspace, is convenient, but by not having to go somewhere, bodily, to acquire your reading material (I'm also looking at your Amazon) one can not be overwhelmed by the physical manifestation of the creativity and fortitude of so many dedicated souls and experience the almost-embarrassment I feel at being giving such access to the dreams, opinions and visions of complete strangers.

If I really want to sound like a Luddite, I will proclaim that libraries are the absolute only place to patronize, but I do understand that sometimes you just can not waste away on the fourteen person waiting list for the newest bestseller, or you love a book so much you want to own it (or if you are my husband, are too damn lazy to request the book online at our library website so your wife, who is at the library three times a week can pick it up for you, and you start clicking away on Amazon, even though it's a book you will never read again). Libraries, however, as opposed to bookstores, are magical. The are the Willy Wonka's Chocolate Room of books. Everything is readable, everything is yours for the asking. The abundant feeling of being able to take as many as you like, sends me into a frenzy of literary gluttony, as I gobble books up, loading new fiction and old classics into my arms until they tremble. Library books have history, unlike their pristine, bookstore cousins. I personally like seeing grains of sand stuck in the plastic cover, or a dog-earred paged with a little spot of grease on it, wondering where this book has been**. One can feel more connected to the world thinking of all the other people who have had the very experience you are having with a book right now. And I smile when I wander into the children's room and wonder how many girls have been inspired to play detective reading the ancient copy of Harriet the Spy I find on the shelves.

Many consider the Kindle the wave of the future, but I think just as many consider the art of the truly printed word to be worth something. Toggling right to first page without physically turning pages, might allow you to miss a truly insightful quote the author has chosen to include, or a heartfelt dedication whose language makes you catch your breath. And what of cover art? The textured paper of a book cover, partnered with work produced by the outstanding illustrators and photographers some authors are lucky enough to select to create their their book jackets, combine to make a piece of art. In the attic bedroom, I have placed on the guest nightstand, a stack of books whose text not only moves me, but also make me happy to look at.

No matter how great my fear though, I do not think printed books will go the way of the eight-track tape. Besides, you should see how annoyed people get when they have to turn these things off during takeoff and landing and somehow I don't think a Kindle, sunscreen and sand play well together. And I don't even want to think about it if Little Man got his hands on one.

*Don't judge me! They read for the hour and a half they had to wait at JFK as a result of their having a compulsively early mother.
** OK, sometimes it is gross. It's called a napkin people and maybe barbecue is not the best choice when reading.