Kindle
There is a widespread belief that once books go electronic, something of immense value dies. Reading comfortably by a fire will be forever tainted by the soulless machine, its cruelly glaring screen, its cold metallic emptiness.
Story time.
Before the printing press, when Europe was wailing in the depths of the Dark Ages, books were made in remote monasteries.
The same people who bound the lambskin pages raised the lambs.
Each text was accompanied by notations in the margins, the copyist musing over particularly insightful passages as he wrote them by hand.
The typographical flourishes, the intricate art, everything was done uniquely for a single copy of a book.
Story time two.
Each and every book you own was made on an assembly line in the most identical and cost-effective manner possible.
Moral of our story:
Your books have no soul to lose.
If you think that books shouldn’t trade personality and craftsmanship for mass distribution, that ship already sailed. Centuries ago.
The Kindle might suck (and it definitely does), but “it isn’t a book” is not the reason why.