Paper or Screen: One Book Lover’s Confession

I was reading my emails this morning, which included notice of a soon-to-be-published book, “Remembering Earth”. My fingers used muscle memory to point and click, and I was on the verge of pre-ordering the book when I realized it wasn’t coming out as an e-book—and that I can no longer comfortably read a physical book.

My reading habits have changed over the years, mostly because how the material is made available has changed, but also because my body has changed.

Visceral Objects

Books, magazines, comics, and newspapers all used to be visceral objects. Some were unwieldy, others were toss-aways. Newspapers had many purposes, especially for ‘after-use’.

Books were objects of reverence in my family. Appreciation of the binding, the quality of the paper, and different print faces all contributed to the enjoyment of “reading”.

I used to read paperbacks anywhere. I’d assume postures that a yoga master would envy when I was young. These ranged from stomach-down, back arched and supported by my forearms, to curled tightly on one side or the other, nose sticking out from under the covers with a flashlight propped up so I could read in the night.

Benches and molded seats in bus stations or airports, deep-cushioned wingback chairs to hammocks, all were appropriate spots for losing myself in a book.

The Blessings and Curse of E-Readers

Remember the Palm Pilot? I know – last century technology – well that started me transitioning from paper to digital publishing. Books are beautiful, bulky companions easily accessible wherever there is light to be had. Perhaps I should feel more guilty, but I dumped them like an old boyfriend for the new, shiny make and model that lets me read in the comfort of my bed without expending excess energy except that needed to turn my Kindle on and tap the screen to turn the page.

My Kindle takes up little space, only needs occasional maintenance, and is available to me during daytime or at night (as long as I remember to keep her charged!) The books I want to read are delivered in seconds and I can be relieved of the pressures of reality and slip into alternative worlds literally by only lifting a finger.

I am so spoiled!

I used to comfort myself that switching to digital was a small act of environmental citizenship—fewer trees, less ink, no shipping. And I still believe there is something to that. But I have come to think that every format carries a cost; we just distribute it differently. Print asks something visible of the land. Digital asks something invisible of the grid, the supply chain, and the distant places where devices are built and eventually discarded. Neither is innocent. What shifts is not the burden but where it lands—and whether we are paying attention.

A House Full of Old Friends

With that said, my home is filled with the vestiges of my past. Bookcases line my living room and bedroom. The books on the shelves are not there as background for Zoom meeting, but actually are an archive of my education, my hobbies, and attempts at feeding my insatiable desire to know and understand things better.

I know I need to cull my collections, but this would be like deciding which child to keep and which to send away. It is painful to let go and I am choosing to not experience that pain just right now.

Some Books Are Easier to Pass Along

My dilemma in downsizing is that books that I deem “valuable” are now either outdated or no longer considered useful by current-day standards. Books collected during my graduate years were specific to my goal: clinical psychology. What was being taught back then and how these same issues are treated 30 years after no longer apply.

You would think it would be easy to pass them along to budding therapists. But no — and not just because the information has changed, but because no one wants an actual volume. It turns out that the next generation of clinicians is no more interested in a shelf of physical textbooks than they are in a filing cabinet. So, the books remain on my shelf, reminders of an exciting time when I was discovering the world of psychology.

Picture Books Are the Hardest to Release

I have lots of oversize books containing photographs, cartoons, artwork of the Old Masters, and pictures of beauty from all over. These books all weigh a ton and require sturdy platforms to open and view. And they are ones I return to over and over.

E-versions of these kinds of books just don’t cut it for me. I need the physicality of the binding and the sheen of the paper. I openly admire the decision-making that went into the layout and production of not just the individual pages, but the entire collection from cover to cover.

These are a feast for all my senses and a stimulant to my imagination. Which brings me back to my coming to terms with my decision to not buy “Remembering Earth”. The actual acquisition of the book now rests on the awareness that it will now become another thing I will need to be getting rid of.

Truth is, this is a bittersweet yet strangely enjoyable experience. I can imagine sitting and drinking in the photos and the descriptions, experiencing each as if it were a library wine, now opened and enjoyed after years of aging.

After the Moment Passes

But then it will be done. And the book will need to find a place to rest, only to collect dust or be moved when things need rearranging.

I haven’t decided quite yet what I will do. There is a part of me that says, “just order it!” and another that says, “don’t be foolish – get it from the library”.

Truth is, I cannot live without books, whether they are on my shelves or in my Kindle. They are an old friend who I depend on to keep me company and offer me sanctuary from the demands of the unpredictable world I am currently living in.