As of late, I have grown vehemently opposed to technology trends in society. Although I acknowledge that one day, everyone will probably have some sort of smartphone device (with which the government can easily track us down) and paper will be an obsolete waste of the past, I prefer to not jump into the mad pursuit of gadgetry.
There is something about holding a book. A new book with the slight crackling sound when you turn its pages. A familiar book where you can find your favorite passages. A heavy book – one where no matter how you shift your body, you can’t read comfortably – is still comfortable (with stains from pressed flowers littering the middle passages). A thin paperback that flops, almost forgotten, to the bottom of your purse. Clumsy cursive names painstakingly inscribed by child-owners to hastily scrawled notes and exclamation marks of the older age. Used books with their hints of a sordid path hidden in the creases and comments of their previous owners. The smell.
I like to be economical when I print out the reading assignments my teachers email me.
I like to print four pages per page, front to back printing or make the font super small with tiny margins.
I like to hold packets in my hand, highlight them with my hand, feel increasingly triumphant as I flip through each page (with my hand).
I like to organize my readings for the week and go to a cafe and leave the computer at home.
I like how after a semester I can cut out passages I particularly enjoyed and save them for a card or an aimless day.
Regardless of where I go, won’t I be reading a lot in graduate school?
So, should I get a kindle that’s light and white and limited?
Or do I drop money (that I don’t have) on a bright Ipad investment, that will most likely distract me rather than save me time?
What about a colorful Nook from the bookstore that colors the reading exploits of my past?
Can I still argue that the best e-reader is no e-reader at all, or is that idea hopelessly antiquated?