More than three years ago, I mocked Amazon’s Kindle in a manner that has become my trademark: with a smirking blog post that was not very timely, very funny or very smart.
It’s the “not very smart” thing that’s bothering me now, because I can see from looking at my groaning and chaotic bookshelves that most of this crap could reside on a single Kindle, and that would mean many fewer boxes to lug down to the truck when that inevitable day comes that I decamp from the Paris of the Plains. What can I say? I’ve been wrong before.
Of course, the Kindle did cost 400 bucks at the time, and looked like Mr. Spock’s tricorder. So there’s that. But now that the price is down to a C-note and change, and it’s actually smaller and lighter than most paperbacks, it’s fair to say that I didn’t think this through.
Because you can’t really throw out bound books, can you? I can’t. It seems wrong, something a Nazi would do. I sometimes take a box down to the library, but then I feel guilty foisting off titles nobody in their right mind would want to read, such as this mouldering copy of Stick and Rudder I’ve been hauling around for 30 years in the hope someone would confuse me with Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Or A Treasury of Royal Scandals, which the wife seems reluctant to dump. Or No More Masks!, a tiresome collection of 1970s feminist poetry. I can now see where his ‘n’ hers e-readers might be a wise investment. It’s not about all the books you can easily acquire, but the ones you can easily get rid of.