Kindling my desire

A month ago, I penned (keyboarded) a hymn to the printed page. Books were my life, I declared piously.

Today, I stand shamefaced before you and announce: "I've bought myself a Kindle."

Why would I do such a thing, you ask. I guess the proximate cause for my downfall was my experience while on trek in October. Pascal, my travel buddy, brought his Kindle in place of the paperbacks he lugged around on past trips. The device was attractive, slim, easy to hold in one hand; its screen was incredibly easy to read. He electronically bookmarked pages he found interesting, and highlighted passages, just like a college student. He instantaneously checked an internal dictionary for words whose meaning escaped him. He announced -- at least daily(!) -- the exact percentage still to go of the book he was reading. Had he needed new reading material, he would have had immediate digital access to Amazon's inventory. He even -- and this is amazing, although of questionable utility -- was able to beckon the book to read aloud to him.

I know. The decadence is breathtaking.

Of course, I had to get one. Whatever longwinded justifications I might offer you now, we all know the real reason. The Kindle was just too cool for me to resist.

I've downloaded one book from Amazon -- it cost me about $10. I've read a few pages, just to savor the experience, but I'm really saving my first "Kindle experience" for a lengthy train trip I'll be taking next week. It's while I travel that I expect Kindle to be so worthwhile and convenient. Here at home, on the other hand, I'm about half way through the new George Kennan biography -- a dense, heavy, hardback volume that I balance precariously and uncomfortably on one knee while my two cats face off for possession of the other.

The Kennan bio is a serious book, and its size and weight confirm its seriousness. It's a satisfying book to pick up and hold with both hands. I find myself constantly turning back to past chapters, confirming my recall of what I'd read earlier. The book, in all its physicality, will be a permanent addition to my library, a valuable resource to which I'll undoubtedly refer in the future.

A landmark biography of a renowned diplomat and framer of foreign policy requires shelf space. It's just not appropriate Kindle fodder.

But I think Kindle will be well adapted to reading fiction. I generally read novels straight though, without doing much searching back to re-read earlier portions. Once I've read a novel, moreover, I generally shelve it, never to be looked at again. I'll be adding fewer new works of fiction to shelves from now on, but I won't miss them.

And, of course -- (did I mention?) -- my totally awesome Kindle can store about 3,000 books: my once-read novels will all be there should I actually ever need them again.

I know it's not obvious, but I'm kind of excited, behind my calm and equable exterior. Kindle will be a new and powerful tool, and a supplement to my library of printed volumes. It unleashes all the dynamism of the future.

Unless, of course, it turns out to be no more than 2011's version of the 1970's crock pot -- an item everyone just had to own -- and one that's been tucked away, unused and out of sight, during the decades since it was purchased.