Call me an old-fashioned type of girl but when I want to read a book, I want to read a real book. I don’t want to hold onto something cold and electronic. Instead I prefer the warmth of the pages and the feel of the spine that is being stretched and contoured as the book is opened and closed and the pages slowly turned in anticipation of the coming words. A book is a thing of beauty created by an artist who is sharing the art of words.
Don’t get me wrong; I also like gadgets and gizmos. Matter of fact, I am in love with my Android. If I can’t find it, I panic and turn the house and everyone in it upside-down. It is my lifeline — connected to all my e-mail addresses (I have several), Facebook, twitter, dropbox, etc. and my running music, my mindless and energetic running music. And I love reading news, sports, entertainment all online. It’s great to sit at the computer at work and switch screens to Creative Loafing, for example, to catch-up on the goings on in Tampa Bay and the world. But a book is a book; it has the feel of life with the texture of the pages and the smell of an old library or new bookstore. The words jump at you in passionate contrast of black and white.
This article appears in Jun 16-22, 2011.