On the Earthiness of Books

The old year is gone, forgotten and now has about as much importance as a dead umbrella, cannibalised bicycle frame or lost scarf in the street. Six weeks on, one begins to recover from the incessant barrage of perfume ads that accompany the holiday season and are enough to make the subsequent Janus-headed month doubly wheeze and cough. Yet, in retrospect, what a season it was for the gadget-mad and gizmo-idolatrous. Never before has there been such an array of little magical items for the cult of would-be Merlins. E-Readers, Kindle, and more recently the awkwardly named iPad all furiously vie for the public's impulse to be ahead of the curve or, at least, catch up to the 'now'. The proliferation of such advanced technology makes me pause and reflect on the earthiness of books.

I reflect not because I have particular qualms about these new future artefacts. Admittedly, it is wondrous to witness the pace and force with which these implements are born and change the books industry (not to mention human behaviour). Certainly, if I were an author from long ago, I would find their invention thrilling. Just imagine what Euripides or John Donne would feel about having their works easily downloadable and appearing instantly on a fireless screen. It would be like they were taken out for a spin in a show-cased Porsche. Impressive, eh? Zero to Sixty in how little? My word! And the looks we get! Rowing Ulysses, eat your heart out!
And all is smiles and grins and wind in the hair or bald-patch.

Also, to be on a tiny space-ship, leaning over the world while the machine hurls its fiery head on a voyage swiftly past Orion's buttock or gradually into Andromeda's cleavage, I should think then these hand-held readers would be of enormous use. On such a trip, after the intial excitement of the stars and motion has worn off, who wouldn't want to have the entirety of human literature available on command in a button's push. Montaigne would become very handy; so too would Frankie Boyle's autobiography.

But getting back to earth and to the strayed-from topic, there is far more than the mere entertainment, intellectual nourishment and the aesthetic value of traditional books. One must remember that a book is a flingable thing. When one is safely installed on one's couch, reclining and reading and a particulary large and hairy spider dashes across the carpet with all its might towards your head, what better object to halt its progression or life than the very book you currently wield. Would one throw a costly E-reader at the audacious and imposing creature?

In other manners of utility, think of being on your chosen hammock in the afternoon sun when a case of dozing overcomes your outdoor exercise. A paperback makes for an excellent shield over one's face. In it one can inhale the paper, the smell of a dusty attic or damp cellar (all the natural abodes for the forgotten or stored treasures of humanity). After hours of this pleasure one wakes and then resumes reading. Will one dare accomplish this task with an E-reader? Just think of all the grease from one's brow smearing the cherished screen! Impossible. (Will the new books have a pleasant smell or even smell at all? Perhaps when they unexpectedly give up the ghost in an acrid puff?) Inversely, how comfortable are these new eletronic tablets to use as pillows? Every good writer, reader and poetic traveller has used a book as a pillow at some point in their adventures. Myself, I have enlisted a warped and weathered copy of Aloysius Bertrand's Gaspard de la Nuit for this particular function. And yes, the sleep I had was generous with visions.

Even further, will one prop open a window to hear a thunderstorm with their new gadget? Or will they be afraid of getting it wet? Will one settle the matter of an uneven table with their Kindle? Where o where will one place their foaming beer or jostled wine glass if not upon an available or bedside book?

Truth is, whether it is a 'backless copy from the stall, Too cheap for cataloguing' to quote Pound, or whether 'The pages break like ash' to quote Morrison, few things are more earthy, more gripping than an actual book. Innovations will come and go but there is nothing quite like turning a page.