Living in the age of convenience and flickering lights, it seems almost a given that these qualities have expanded into the book itself.
Reading on screens is the form chosen by many nowadays, often for good reason. Online books are largely cheaper, or even free. They provide increased accessibility, and the means to share books with anyone who owns a smart device. The portability of eReaders also makes reading easier when travelling.
At the same time, as a writer, I am yet to be convinced.
Reading books on the screen essentially changes their interactivity. The experience of reading using an eReader or other device is fundamentally less embodied than reading a hardcopy book.
- To read a print book is to turn pages with our fingers.
- It's to smell the peculiar scent of paper, to see your reading progress as a change in ratio within the amount of pages in your left and right hands.
- It's to scribble in the margins with a pencil, and hear the scratch against the page’s roughness.
- It's to encounter notes from previous readers, to learn something new from a stranger’s engagement with the same text.
- It's to walk into a library within any crevice of the world and be greeted with the familiar mysticism of shelves and rows of nestled, printed books, arranged and categorised in physical spaces to be traipsed through.
These are just some of the basic elements within the historical act of reading. Yet, with the move to consume literature online, all of the above are compromised, with some lost entirely.
Reading books on screens isn't the same as reading a physical page. Reading an online book requires decreased levels of interaction with our body (e.g. not turning pages, but rather pressing buttons), and consequently learning and information retention is greatly compromised for many. This is especially seen in people with pre-existing concentration issues, such as ADD or ADHD. Even without such conditions, steep increases in screen time are known to negatively affect eyesight and posture. It becomes unhealthy to consume all of our literature online, at the level of the body.
In addition to decreased bodily interactivity with texts, the move to online reduces the already-slim opportunities for writers to be paid reasonably for their work. There may be increased global accessibility to texts, but companies such as Amazon or Book Depository demand low prices, and therefore lower returns, to authors. Books are often also pirated and shared online, consequently without any return to authors at all.
To me, there is something more human in paper. Something that is lost when translated into pixel links and figures shared on the web. Those who read alone in armchairs or in nature, in transit, or nestled within corners of the public hustle and bustle, would understand.
Reading a physical book is unfolding and refolding oneself as the pages do the same. It is intimate, and inimitable.
And, if you agree – even partially – you are fully equipped to fight against the change. This doesn’t mean that you cannot buy or use online texts – it is inevitable that we do use them in part. I simply urge you to consider, if there are books or authors that you love – buy a print version. See if the experience of reading its pages and writing in its margins offers new insight into its characters, concepts and the pleasure of reading itself.
Or, if you are simply unsure of what to do with your alone time, and are feeling uninspired and dislodged by the fast-paced influx of social media content, slow down with a print book. Become reconnected to your hands, your body and your mind, as the book becomes reconnected to you.
Writer's Bio: Recently having graduated with Creative Writing Honours at UNSW, Deborah finds all facets of literature and art fascinating. Her practice primarily includes writing poetry, short stories, painting and drawing. She seeks to unearth new ways to reinvigorate poetic interest within the world: both at the level of literature, as well as in the ways we approach daily living.
