I'm a book snob

Today, Mary and I went to Borders Books to take advantage of their close-out sale. It was a bittersweet excursion. On the one hand, I was able to pick up a boat load of books for about 20%. On the other hand, I can’t get past the fact that the closing of Borders is a harbinger of the way things are going for the publishing industry.

As I’ve commented before, there’s no question that in the age of e-books, the economics of hauling blocks of wood around the country just won’t pencil out. Gutenberg has had his day.

As much as I love reading a book that I can hold and feel, comforted and invited by the combination of good paper, expert design and typesetting and the ability to make marginal notes, I have to admit I’m part of the problem. Because although I read almost entirely paper books when at home, I find my Nook infinitely more useful when traveling.

My e-reader has about thirty books in it at any one time, so no need to carry several pounds of wood in my carry-on bag on my frequent business trips. And on the bus, I don’t have to put up with nosey fellow riders asking about the book I’m reading. (I don’t know why that bothers me, since I usually welcome talking with anyone about books – I guess on a bus one likes to invoke the cone of silence.)

I suppose e-books are the undeniable wave of the future, and even of my present. But I can’t help feeling that an e-book is somehow cheating, less real than – well – a real book.

I’m a book snob. But my snobbery is not about the classics. It’s the wood pulp I have trouble letting go of.  Go figure.