Writing

Sorely, the poor student lifted his twelfth box of books. So heavy, so awkward. He tilted the box laterally, the better to fit it through the doorway — narrow and obstructed. Knuckles to jamb, scraping every finger, he squeezed his way through — and dropped the box.

I don't know what you were thinking about, but I was talking about over 300 books. 300 really heavy books.

The Kindle and its ilk are just gizmos with pixilated screens that you can carry in your pocket when you find yourself moving for the third time in a year. Hit the off button and its portability shines. A genuine book has a weight of its own. It is heavy, bulky, voluminous. Not only do its contents rarely weigh less than one Nook or Kindle, it along with 299 others is a hassle. That rare copy of Sir Isaac Newton's "Principia" — did his own august eyes behold it? Of course not! And that first edition of "Pride and Prejudice" — whose ladylike hands held it, turned its pages by candlelight? Not the fucking queen; so why pay so much for books that will inflame your sinuses? The old copy of "The Cat in the Hat" is just as beloved without the crayoned personalization that forces you to buy a new copy for each of the family's children.

Do you move books at least once? Wise up. Remember the 8-track tape that was supposed to be the dernier cri? Vanished into the recycling bin of history. The DVD gets supplanted byBlu-ray, which will soon be made obsolete by something else. And that something else is weightless, near-infinite digital storage.

Oswego "I love books for the reading bits, not the collecting/fetish bits" Atheist