There is a stack of books up against my desk drawers that is quickly reaching knee level. On my dresser next to my bed there are three stacks of books that reach almost to the height of my bed. Aside from these there are books on my bed, books on my desk, books in my backpack, books in the little shelving unit in the corner of the room, books in my closet, books in my pink steamer trunk, books under my bed, and books that belong to me circulating around the rooms of the boys who live upstairs. I guess what I'm trying to say is I love books. I love everything about them. I love opening them up, I love the feel of the paper under my fingers. I love the way books smell and the anticipation that lies between each turning page. I want to get lost between the covers of each and every book I own.
I wonder sometimes what I'd do if I didn't have books to hide away in. If I had to be present every moment of every day of my life instead of burying myself under piles and piles of research and poetry and novels and short stories. I don't think I could handle it. I don't know that I could really allow myself to exist fully in the world outside of my paperbacks and hardcovers. I've come to depend on the written word to teach me how to live my life, how to speak and how to behave out there in that scary social public place we call the world. Perhaps this seems a bit sad but really it's not. It's beautiful to live in these pages, to have that safe place to go when nothing else is going right.
Lately I've been terrified that e-books are taking over the world. Everyone tells me the paper book won't ever become obsolete but really when was the last time you used a CD player? Or bought a CD? Or got something in the mail that wasn't a DVD from Netflix or a coupon? Technology eats up these clunky, in-elegant forms. We have iPods and e-mail and now we have e-readers and soon I'm afraid we won't have books. But then what will I do? How will I cope when I can't feel the pages under my fingers and I can't bring the paper up to my face and inhale the musty old scent of a well loved book? I can barely read things on a computer screen, it hurts my eyes and gives me headaches. How will I read when all of my words are on those electronic screens? Will the cold and unfeeling plastic and metal comfort me the way the soft, warm paper does? Will it soak up my tears and survive my anger when it will be launched against the wall? While I understand that technology is always moving forward and has no time for the pleas of one woman I don't think I'm ready to hand over my paper for a screen, my pulp for a rechargeable battery. I think I'm beginning to understand those old men who hoard their vinyl records, it's not about the music so much as it is about the medium. But somehow the medium makes the music better.
-The Dormouse
