Books Are Dead. Long Live Books
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I love books. In our home I arrange them by height and colour – this drives my husband crazy.
He thinks library – find a book through the dewy decimal system or in order of genre…
No – it’s a design feature. Must. Look. Nice.
Many of our books are well travelled. We intend to tuck the i-things away and switch our brains to the escapism and imagination the printed word brings.
Never happens. The heavy books are taken out of the suitcase and either placed on the hotel room side table to be ignored later or carried to the pool/seaside lounge chair to rest next to the holiday cocktail du jour.
Unfortunately, ‘text on a beach’ is no longer involves a page-turning thriller – it’s all about the thumbs and the quality of the Wi-Fi connection.
Printed books are the last refuge to getting off-line and escaping from the lack of privacy and overload of diatribe the internet brings.
I invite strangers into my life on a daily basis be it via Instagram, Pinterest or Facebook. It’s worryingly addictive.
When my step-daughter turned 18, I gave her a card, a gift and then over pancakes at breakfast I sent her a message on Facebook to wish her happy birthday.
Why I need to prove to the interwebs that I know and love her is beyond me – but I can’t ignore that it is a thing.
Hello 1984.
What book do you travel with?