There is nothing like a pulp and paper book. A real tangible object.
Now before someone accuses me of being a Luddite, I will say that I love my e-books. I belong to Scribd (or I did). I buy books through every reading app on my tablet. Overdrive? Yes. And Netgalley? What a feeling it is to get approved for that coveted ARC. My tablet and ipod is full up with books both E and Audio. If I could have books downloaded directly into my brain, I would.
But walking into a bookstore is transcendent.
Do they send serotonin into the air through the ventilation system? They must. What other explanation for my feeling of calm? A stroll down the aisles feels like being wrapped in a snuggie. And all those books. Stacked so neatly. Anyone of them could be mine.
I don’t get the same feeling looking at a online bookstore. I just want to touch them all in real life. The publishers spend so much time and money designing those covers. The art, the colours, the texture of the paper. I prefer paperback to hardcover just for the variety of styles paperback novels come in. And unlike an ebook, I can see at a glance how big the book is, and therefore, how much time I’ll be investing in reading it.
As much as I like the convenience of ebooks, I know every time I enter a bookstore that I’ll always have shelves of books in my home. No amount of rational thinking about space, dust, or clutter can convince me otherwise.
**This post was inspired by my recent visit to a large bookstore.**