There’s something about picking up a book and reading it that I find very comforting. I know the world is changing and that e-book sales are increasing daily, and I know all the Kindles and other e-book reading devices are going to take over the bookstores and libraries one night while I’m sleeping, but still, there is something about picking up a book and turning its pages that I find very familiar.
In all fairness, I have not tried any of the digital book readers. In all honesty, I’ve never even seen one, well, except for online. I just cannot bring myself to trade in a perfectly good book for a cold digital version. It feels like a betrayal. It’s not exactly the same thing as replacing the bumblebee and clam shell on the Flintstones for a technologically advanced plastic razor. These are real books that have existed, well, before the Flintstones. Books have brought to the world priceless stories, words of wisdom, creativity and imagination for longer than any of us can remember.
Some of the world’s best memories are captured in words bound by leather on aged paper for all to enjoy. There are books so valuable that they are stored in vaulted basements to help preserve their existence. Books teach us, they help us to sleep, they comfort us. They make us laugh and they make us cry. They are always there when we need them. They are like old friends, like living stories in our hands that patiently wait for us each day.
I am a self-professed book lover. I cannot yet bring myself to accept this unnecessary replacement of paper into plastic. The next generation’s stories of book burnings will be replaced by…e-book reader viruses? I can imagine there is some value to the inevitable digital e-book generation, however, I am not ready to go there yet. For as long as I can, I will treasure the bound pages that sill accompany me each night before sleep. I will remain hopeful that the day never comes when books no longer exist.
