E-READING

An old-fashioned looking red bookmark that could be made of velvet or silk marks the last page I read. An unobtrusive line at the bottom of the page lets me know how far I am into the book, as well as how many pages to the end of the chapter. Unlike the shelves of my library, here my books are organized neatly in whichever fashion I want. I don’t even have to get up from the couch to get a new tome.

My attachment to good, old paper books is in-built in my personality. I love the stacks of unread books I buy faster than I will ever be able to keep up with, piling up in my office and adding to the decor. When entering a bookstore or a library, the smell of paper still inebriates me. Opening a cover, with all the promise it carries, is one of my favourite gestures. Curling up on a cold day and getting lost in another world for hours is priceless.

It wasn’t until hunting for an Italian thriller for my Italian book club, and refusing to order it from Italy because of the prohibitive shipping costs, that I considered checking out iBook. Lo and behold, the book was there, at the modicum price of $9.99. I downloaded a sample and, 30 seconds later, I purchased it. Just like that. Just this once, I told myself, as I have no other choice.

Maybe because the book was a page turner, I found myself forgetting I was reading it on a  e-reader. Then I started liking the experience: turning the pages with a flick of my fingers, knowing at a glance where I was, not even having to use the light on the nightstand when in bed. I still wouldn’t be comfortable reading it in the bathtub and, unlike a Kindle, it’s way too hard to read in the outside glare. Still, this paper traditionalist is enjoying every single page read electronically, to the point I am going back and forth reading the same book both on paper and on the iPad (don’t ask). What has the world come to?

A small pang of guilt at the thought of the Chinese man or woman (or probably the scores of them) who painstakingly assembled my iPad by hand assails my conscience as I read. Foxcomm (where iPads and iPhones are assembled) has been in the news a lot of late, for their lax labour practices – or lack of them. Although I feel Apple is being targeted because of the successful behemoth it is, I do hope they will throw their weight around to improve factory conditions, if nothing else, to appease the conscience of this particular customer.

In the meantime, four more books have been downloaded – it’s all too easy and clinical. My credit card number, stored somewhere in the skies above Cupertino, means I don’t even have to reach for my wallet when paying for my invisible purchases. Good thing I am not a shopaholic – this is worse than the yearlong stint working in a bookstore, where my meager paycheck, and then some, was spent on books I found fascinating while shelving them at 6 in the morning. It was the mother lode of impulse buying.

Conceivably, I could never stray from the couch or the bed: endless reading materia at the readyl, Ottie at my feet and, for some excitement, the worldwide web at my fingertips. Add a bar of chocolate and I am set for a long afternoon.