“Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. And inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.”
Let me linger with my favorite friends for a wee bit longer. Books. And this time I mean, specifically, paper printed books.
It was suggested, in a comment to my last post, that the solution to the space guzzling of my book-addiction is the great innovation of E-books. So true. So efficient. And also so contrary to the idolater in my nature.
To me a book is more than content. A book is presence. You can hug it like you would a dear friend, and glace at it with gratitude months after you met, got to know each other, and became part of each other’s lives.
It’s the idolater in me that keeps insisting the book, that physical presence in the form of a rectangular flattish sort of box, is a being that reciprocates to me what I am to it. I have hugged a book I loved, and even kissed a volume that opened my eyes just as only a dear friend could.
How do you hug an E-book? Pray tell. Really.
There is something ephemeral about all of e-things. Maybe it brings us back to the illusion that is all existence, or all matters of this world. Maybe there *IS* only thought, and E-books are a far closer representation of it. That’s a nice and very spiritual way to look at it. But I’m not evolved enough for this Jorge Luis Borges sort of ruminations in my everyday life.
I need my physical books, the way others hold to religious artifacts. I need physical reminders for what is supra-physical.
And back to that deep thinker, Groucho Marx. E-readers now come with their own light. You now can read even inside of a dog.