I have been a bibliophile my entire life. For those of you
who are not quite sure what that means, don’t worry, I didn’t just make some
scandalous admission that might land me in jail; it just means that I love
books. I love the feel of a book in my hands, the sound of the pages turning,
the smell of the paper, and of course, the words contained within.
I have been a book lover for as long as I can remember—a habit handed down to me from my mother who used to bring me to our local library every three weeks to get a new hoard of books. I sometimes imagined that when the librarian saw me and my mom coming, she quickly had to make a phone call to ensure the shelves would be restocked when we left, because she knew we were about to wipe the place clean of everything from Dr. Seuss to Agatha Christie. We arrived with shopping bags and left with them so chock full of books that our arms were sore just walking from the library to the car, 40 feet away.
Even when I stopped going to the library with my mom, my love for books persisted. I naturally became an English Literature major, because when I found out there was a major where pretty much all you had to do was read books, write about books, and talk about books, I said “Sign me up!” The first time I set foot in NYU’s 12-story high, 3.3 million volume, Bobst Library, I was as giddy as Burgess Meredith at the end of the Twilight Zone episode “Time Enough at Last.” I wanted to run into the stacks, throw books in the air and yell, “There’s time now!” But I saw the burly security guard and contained myself.
Yes, books have always been powerfully important objects for me. I grew up in a household that had many bookcases with hundreds of volumes on the shelves and when I eventually moved out on my own, these sacred objects played a prominent part of my home décor. They may take up a lot of space, but their worth goes well beyond the space they inhabit.
So, in the past couple of decades, when electronic book devices started to emerge, I mocked their very existence and swore I would never read a book not made out of paper. It seemed blasphemous to me to read a book on a screen rather than on a printed page. The very concept of an e-book made me cringe. “You can take your Nook and shove it up your…um…nook!” was my attitude.
As e-readers evolved they, of course, started being used for things other than reading books. Just like phones have ceased to be for talking and are now for a thousand other things, so too have e-readers evolved into mini-computers. A few years ago I ended up getting a Kindle—not for reading books, but for playing games. Mostly I use my Kindle to play Scrabble and sometimes for looking things up on Wikipedia or the iMDB, if I’m too lazy to walk over to my computer. But never, NEVER for reading books! That kind of heresy, I would not be a part of.
Of course, I know many reasonable and intelligent people who swear by e-books. They tell me it’s very convenient to carry around, much lighter than a regular book, and much better for the environment, since no trees are harmed in the making of an e-book. “Sure, that may all be true, but it’s still not the same experience as a REAL book,” I inevitably tell them (and myself.)
So I continue to get my books from the library, although now accompanied by my 10-year-old son, who is even more of a bibliophile than I. Of course, getting your books from the library is sometimes a crapshoot, as a particular book you’re looking for may be checked out or simply not one they have. More often than not in these situations, I just look for a different book. Hey, I’m an easy going guy, so as long as a book has a bunch of words strung together that I enjoy, I’m satisfied. But if you belong to a book club, that won’t cut it.
A little over a year ago a friend invited me to join his book club and I readily agreed for two primary reasons: 1) I thought this would be a good chance to read some books I wouldn’t have otherwise thought to pick up, and 2) I pretty much never went anywhere other than work and home, so I thought this would be a good excuse to get out of the house and socialize once a month. Turns out I was right on both counts!
The book club consists of about eight to ten members, but for any given session there are about four or five attendees. It has been great getting to know the guys and reading the eclectic mix of books being suggested. One thing that has become crystal clear, though, is that I am the only dinosaur still getting his books from the library. Most of the other club members are using e-books or audio books, while I still cling to my precious print editions.
As with most book clubs, in ours, a different member picks the book each month and February was my turn. I went with a book I’ve wanted to read for the past few years called Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel. It is a post-apocalyptic book about a group of traveling actors and musicians performing for small groups of survivors after a deadly flu wiped out most of the human race. (Note: I settled on this book about two days before news of the corona virus broke, so I think I’ve successfully unnerved my fellow book club members.)
As soon as I made this month’s book club selection official, I jumped onto the Chandler Public Library website to reserve a copy, but it turned out all three copies in their system were checked out, so I placed a hold on it. The copy that should have been available the soonest was due back on Wednesday, February 5th, which I figured would give me plenty of time to finish it before our book club meeting on the 26th of the month. But lo and behold, I did not get a notice from the library that the book was available on Thursday, February 6th or Friday, February 7th. So, on Saturday, February 8th, when I took my son to the library on our regular visit, I took up the situation with the librarian.
Me: Hello Mr. Librarian, I wonder if you could help me. I placed a book on hold that was due back on Wednesday and I still haven’t been notified yet. I’m wondering if there’s a lag time between when it gets returned and when I get notified and I’m just in some grey zone at the moment.
Him: Let me get your library card and I’ll check it out.
Me: (Very carefully handing him the most prized possession in my wallet.) Here you go.
Him: (Hits some keys on his end.) I see what you mean. They haven’t returned the book yet. It is available as an electronic book, if you would like to check it out that way.
Me: Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhh… I don’t do electronic books. I prefer to have the actual book.
Him: (Shrugs his shoulders and smiles.) Okay. I understand. You’ll be notified when it’s available.
Frustrated, I found my son in the young adults section cramming volume upon volume into the black canvas bag hanging from his shoulder. A few minutes later we checked out—him with a dozen books and me with nothing. When we got home I stared at my Kindle and found myself having an epic internal argument.
Me 1: Don’t even look at that Kindle unless you are planning on playing Scrabble. You are not succumbing to the evils of the e-book.
Me 2: What’s the harm in doing it just this once? You have to read this book—you’re the one who suggested it.
Me 1: Maybe whoever has it will return it later on today and I’ll be able to pick it up tomorrow.
Me 2: Yes, or maybe the person who has it has fled the country with it, because they’re the head of a stolen library book cartel. They’re already three days overdue on their book, so you know they’re an outlaw anyway, so who knows what they’re capable of?
Me 1: But an e-book? An E-BOOK??? How can I forsake the printed page this way? It’s against everything I stand for, I tells ya!
Me 2: Wake up, man! Everyone is reading on electronic devices these days! Just take the plunge, already. The words will be the same if they’re on a screen or on paper. Step into the 21st century, friend.
Me 1: Fine, I’ll do it just this once. But if this leads to listening to music on MP3 players and taking Ubers instead of taxis, I’ll never forgive you.
So I did it. I downloaded my very first e-book, ironically enough about a society that has no electricity and therefore, no e-books. I started reading very tentatively, afraid that my conscience would explode at any second. But my conscience didn’t explode and the reading of the book on this lightweight device was annoyingly convenient. I found myself reading this book much more quickly than usual—whether it was because the book was so good, or the way I was reading it was so easy, I could not tell.
When I had about 50 pages to go in the book I finally got the notice from the library that the hard copy version I put on hold was available. Now what? Do I ditch the e-book and read the last little bit from the hard copy? I was taking my son to the library the next day, anyway, so I checked out the hard copy and put it on my nightstand. That night I got into bed and looked back and forth between my Kindle and the physical book right next to it. I was very close to finished with the book and knew that I would be done with it within a half hour. I finally picked up the Kindle and opened it up as a tear slowly trickled down my cheek.
I would finish this one e-book, just this once and never get another one—it’s hard copies from here on out. At least that’s what “Me 1” told myself, as “Me 2” quietly snickered in the background.
I have been a book lover for as long as I can remember—a habit handed down to me from my mother who used to bring me to our local library every three weeks to get a new hoard of books. I sometimes imagined that when the librarian saw me and my mom coming, she quickly had to make a phone call to ensure the shelves would be restocked when we left, because she knew we were about to wipe the place clean of everything from Dr. Seuss to Agatha Christie. We arrived with shopping bags and left with them so chock full of books that our arms were sore just walking from the library to the car, 40 feet away.
Even when I stopped going to the library with my mom, my love for books persisted. I naturally became an English Literature major, because when I found out there was a major where pretty much all you had to do was read books, write about books, and talk about books, I said “Sign me up!” The first time I set foot in NYU’s 12-story high, 3.3 million volume, Bobst Library, I was as giddy as Burgess Meredith at the end of the Twilight Zone episode “Time Enough at Last.” I wanted to run into the stacks, throw books in the air and yell, “There’s time now!” But I saw the burly security guard and contained myself.
Yes, books have always been powerfully important objects for me. I grew up in a household that had many bookcases with hundreds of volumes on the shelves and when I eventually moved out on my own, these sacred objects played a prominent part of my home décor. They may take up a lot of space, but their worth goes well beyond the space they inhabit.
So, in the past couple of decades, when electronic book devices started to emerge, I mocked their very existence and swore I would never read a book not made out of paper. It seemed blasphemous to me to read a book on a screen rather than on a printed page. The very concept of an e-book made me cringe. “You can take your Nook and shove it up your…um…nook!” was my attitude.
As e-readers evolved they, of course, started being used for things other than reading books. Just like phones have ceased to be for talking and are now for a thousand other things, so too have e-readers evolved into mini-computers. A few years ago I ended up getting a Kindle—not for reading books, but for playing games. Mostly I use my Kindle to play Scrabble and sometimes for looking things up on Wikipedia or the iMDB, if I’m too lazy to walk over to my computer. But never, NEVER for reading books! That kind of heresy, I would not be a part of.
Of course, I know many reasonable and intelligent people who swear by e-books. They tell me it’s very convenient to carry around, much lighter than a regular book, and much better for the environment, since no trees are harmed in the making of an e-book. “Sure, that may all be true, but it’s still not the same experience as a REAL book,” I inevitably tell them (and myself.)
So I continue to get my books from the library, although now accompanied by my 10-year-old son, who is even more of a bibliophile than I. Of course, getting your books from the library is sometimes a crapshoot, as a particular book you’re looking for may be checked out or simply not one they have. More often than not in these situations, I just look for a different book. Hey, I’m an easy going guy, so as long as a book has a bunch of words strung together that I enjoy, I’m satisfied. But if you belong to a book club, that won’t cut it.
A little over a year ago a friend invited me to join his book club and I readily agreed for two primary reasons: 1) I thought this would be a good chance to read some books I wouldn’t have otherwise thought to pick up, and 2) I pretty much never went anywhere other than work and home, so I thought this would be a good excuse to get out of the house and socialize once a month. Turns out I was right on both counts!
The book club consists of about eight to ten members, but for any given session there are about four or five attendees. It has been great getting to know the guys and reading the eclectic mix of books being suggested. One thing that has become crystal clear, though, is that I am the only dinosaur still getting his books from the library. Most of the other club members are using e-books or audio books, while I still cling to my precious print editions.
As with most book clubs, in ours, a different member picks the book each month and February was my turn. I went with a book I’ve wanted to read for the past few years called Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel. It is a post-apocalyptic book about a group of traveling actors and musicians performing for small groups of survivors after a deadly flu wiped out most of the human race. (Note: I settled on this book about two days before news of the corona virus broke, so I think I’ve successfully unnerved my fellow book club members.)
As soon as I made this month’s book club selection official, I jumped onto the Chandler Public Library website to reserve a copy, but it turned out all three copies in their system were checked out, so I placed a hold on it. The copy that should have been available the soonest was due back on Wednesday, February 5th, which I figured would give me plenty of time to finish it before our book club meeting on the 26th of the month. But lo and behold, I did not get a notice from the library that the book was available on Thursday, February 6th or Friday, February 7th. So, on Saturday, February 8th, when I took my son to the library on our regular visit, I took up the situation with the librarian.
Me: Hello Mr. Librarian, I wonder if you could help me. I placed a book on hold that was due back on Wednesday and I still haven’t been notified yet. I’m wondering if there’s a lag time between when it gets returned and when I get notified and I’m just in some grey zone at the moment.
Him: Let me get your library card and I’ll check it out.
Me: (Very carefully handing him the most prized possession in my wallet.) Here you go.
Him: (Hits some keys on his end.) I see what you mean. They haven’t returned the book yet. It is available as an electronic book, if you would like to check it out that way.
Me: Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhh… I don’t do electronic books. I prefer to have the actual book.
Him: (Shrugs his shoulders and smiles.) Okay. I understand. You’ll be notified when it’s available.
Frustrated, I found my son in the young adults section cramming volume upon volume into the black canvas bag hanging from his shoulder. A few minutes later we checked out—him with a dozen books and me with nothing. When we got home I stared at my Kindle and found myself having an epic internal argument.
Me 1: Don’t even look at that Kindle unless you are planning on playing Scrabble. You are not succumbing to the evils of the e-book.
Me 2: What’s the harm in doing it just this once? You have to read this book—you’re the one who suggested it.
Me 1: Maybe whoever has it will return it later on today and I’ll be able to pick it up tomorrow.
Me 2: Yes, or maybe the person who has it has fled the country with it, because they’re the head of a stolen library book cartel. They’re already three days overdue on their book, so you know they’re an outlaw anyway, so who knows what they’re capable of?
Me 1: But an e-book? An E-BOOK??? How can I forsake the printed page this way? It’s against everything I stand for, I tells ya!
Me 2: Wake up, man! Everyone is reading on electronic devices these days! Just take the plunge, already. The words will be the same if they’re on a screen or on paper. Step into the 21st century, friend.
Me 1: Fine, I’ll do it just this once. But if this leads to listening to music on MP3 players and taking Ubers instead of taxis, I’ll never forgive you.
So I did it. I downloaded my very first e-book, ironically enough about a society that has no electricity and therefore, no e-books. I started reading very tentatively, afraid that my conscience would explode at any second. But my conscience didn’t explode and the reading of the book on this lightweight device was annoyingly convenient. I found myself reading this book much more quickly than usual—whether it was because the book was so good, or the way I was reading it was so easy, I could not tell.
When I had about 50 pages to go in the book I finally got the notice from the library that the hard copy version I put on hold was available. Now what? Do I ditch the e-book and read the last little bit from the hard copy? I was taking my son to the library the next day, anyway, so I checked out the hard copy and put it on my nightstand. That night I got into bed and looked back and forth between my Kindle and the physical book right next to it. I was very close to finished with the book and knew that I would be done with it within a half hour. I finally picked up the Kindle and opened it up as a tear slowly trickled down my cheek.
I would finish this one e-book, just this once and never get another one—it’s hard copies from here on out. At least that’s what “Me 1” told myself, as “Me 2” quietly snickered in the background.
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