Another story in the NYT today about how Amazon is squeezing publishers on the price of ebooks, which are, the article says, "exploding in popularity."
I dunno. This week I wanted to buy a copy of the first edition of the Lyrical Ballads, and while I was at it--yes, I confess, on Amazon, with a Christmas gift certificate--Dorothy's Journals, which I don't think I own, though I could be wrong. Lots of choices, all presented with mouth-watering covers. Then I'd see "ebook" and think yuck. I don't want one more thing to read on my screen, I want a real book with real pages and a real cover, I want to smell it and stroke it, and riffle the pages. I want to be able to go backwards and forwards at will, a whole clump of pages at a time if I feel like it. It's not the same experience at all. It's not truth-in-advertising to sell ebooks online as if they had nice covers and real bodies.
I read Steve Jobs's biography on a plane on my son's Kindle and that was ok, because it didn't add weight to the luggage and it's not a book I'm going to read twice We get the New Yorker and the NYT on the iPad, and they both look good and the NYT doesn't get your fingers dirty, and they are easy and pleasant enough to read, but I'm discovering I still prefer to wait for the paper to come.
Of course, I don't answer the phone and I don't have a machine that does for me, nor do I have a cell phone, so maybe I'm just weird.
I did wonder what I'd do with my wall of books if I didn't have any books. Maybe I could hang a couple of my friends' paintings.