Wherein I demonstrate a first world problem and woefully lament the tribulations of the mediums I read books on
Growing up an only child and military brat, we moved around a lot. Some of my earliest memories, around 2 or 3 years old given that they are in Italy, is going to the library with my Mom, who worked there part time, and checking out books. My favorite was this graphic novel like fantasy book that involved pigs (it was the 70’s, so it’s been a while, forgive me for skimping a little on the details).
Later, in my early teens, we lived in Germany, and there were two constants in my life – going out to have an adventure in the stadtparks around Furth, and reading. Cold German nights in the 80’s, with no TV (a tale for another time) and a stack of library books is how I spent those years. This is no tale of woe – these were glorious times, the nostalgia of which I have tried to recapture ever since.
In adulthood, though, my relationship with books became somewhat skewed, I think. As a kid, with an enlisted Dad and a Mom that worked part time to help make ends meet, we didn’t have a lot of expendable income. Special treats were a trip to the bookstore, but the library was always my frequent go to. A few years later when we were stateside again, I got my first job at the age of 15 in a library. A library system that on and off I worked for for over ten years, and in some ways is responsible for the career I have now.
But along the way, especially in my thirties, books became something other than a source of adventure. Inadvertently, they became an acquisition. You see, I had bought my first second hand, first generation kindle, and I was in awe. I could carry hundreds of books in the palm of my hand. The only obstacle between me and having any book I wanted at the drop of a hat was money. It didn’t matter what time of day it was. A thousand page epic weighed the same in my bag as a 100 page novella.
That kind of power ultimately went to my head. While granted, my digital library reflects over 14 years of buying books at this point, it’s still more than I can manage. Amazon’s platform in those 14 years has seen amazing hardware improvements – but it’s also seen decisions that make it obvious they are only trying to sell you your next book and could care less about your current read. Fantastic hardware, less than stellar software. Which is ironic, in a way, because (IMHO) their next biggest competitor has horrible hardware and amazing software (but lacks in a stable backend or robust store to boot, making them inferior in a lot of ways).
You see, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about books and my relationship with them. Some of this is because the Kindle app, being ever so helpful, tells me that as I write this, I have read something on that platform every day for a consecutive 420 days. Some of it is lingering grief after clearing my parents house when they passed, and watching my parent’s small library just get boxed and sent off to donation bins at the library. Bibliophiles welcome books into our home, but I am now all too aware that when we pass, there is likely no one who will care to take these tomes that gave us so much pleasure. At best, they will go to thrift stores or a library, to hopefully be repurposed to help someone else. Just as common is a future in recycling.
I’ve used all kinds of excuses for why I read ebooks. They’re portable; I’m a slob and don’t want to damage or ruin a paper book; they’re incredibly convenient. The biggest, as I mentioned above, is not wanting to leave a legacy someone else has to sigh and deal with. Yet it isn’t a faceless library of digital files that gives me comfort on a bad day, but being surrounded by my shelves of books.
After all these years, I have finally learned the need to curate my collection. To keep those books that I always return to, but to be willing to let go of that popular book on getting things done that I will never return to. I haven’t done it yet, but I have learned to accept the necessity. Baby steps.
I am still at heart a reader. Every year I set a goal of reading at least 52 books. This year I’m currently at 65 books and going, and while (subjectively) I think I read ebooks faster, I enjoy paper ones more.
I think this winter I will challenge my digital tendencies and test my curating abilities. I’m think it’s time I took a look at that physical TBR pile. A time for me to ignore stats and insights and graphs of progress and charts of where I sit with my peers in how many books I’ve consumed, and therefore how much I’ve helped one business prosper at taking my money with the commodity I so greedily want.
I think for the course of this Fall and Winter, I am going to try and read paper books. I am going to return to what made books so great in the first place – disconnecting from the bustle and hustle of the world and enveloping myself in the pages open before me. Let’s see how this goes, shall we?