THE GREAT BOOK DEBATE

The so-called E-book Revolution has been around for five or so years now (precipitated by the introduction of Amazon's Kindle in 2007), but just how much of a revolution is it? 

A recent article in the Wall Street Journal referred to a survey of book readers that showed only 30% of respondents had read even one e-book in the past year.  Another research study showed only 16% of Americans had purchased an e-book and 50% said they weren't interested in buying one.

So, despite such predictions as the death of the book, the demise of book shops and the imminent bankruptcy of traditional publishers, it appears the printed book may be holding its own.  As an avid reader, my experience is that after an initial burst of enthusiasm, the wave of e-book fervour is ebbing.  Like others, I got carried along by the initial excitement of instant accessibility, portability, cheaper prices and the unfailing appeal of the new.  My Ipad is groaning under the weight of numerous books languishing un-read in techno-space while the influx of printed books, which I consume one after the other as if trying to set a  record, hasn't lessened in the least. 

I'm basically disenchanted with the whole e-reading process.  I do too much gazing at a flickering screen already, and prolonging this activity for the length of time it takes to read a book is pure tedium.  As well, jabbing at a hard, unfriendly screen to flick backwards and forwards just accentuates the disembodied nature of the activity. 

Books are tactile, living, breathing organisms.  They look nice, they smell divine, they feel warm and substantial in your hands and they give you something to do with all those bookmarks.  Besides when I read, I like to scribble and scrawl in the margins, turn down the page corners, poke yellow notes in places to go back to, all of which I'm told you can do electronically.  But it's not the same.  Even if I manage to master the keystrokes to take a note, I lose track of where they've gone.  And if, like me, you love the extra fathomless dimension shelves of books bring to a room, those little simulated versions on your tablet are a paltry substitute. 

These are all fairly self-evident objections.  A more philosophical argument in favour of printed books was recently proposed by Nathan Hollier in "The Conversation", and hinges on the idea that the digital reading experience is detrimental to our ability to concentrate.   Opening the gates to the digital playground of a tablet, which reading an e-book demands, he suggests, means you make yourself vulnerable to the lure of everything else that's on there too.

An impairment in concentration might not seem so dire, except when you consider that lowered levels of focus and the inability to concentrate are linked to stress related illnesses, which are proliferating in our society.   One of the triggers for faulty cognitive functioning appears to be a surplus of options, an overload of information, a cornucopia of visual, auditory and intellectual stimulants, the very conditions fostered by our wealth of digital accessories.

The digital age, Hollier says, has become an "age of distraction".  Without concentration, there can be no intellectual development, no thought that can truly be considered rational.  Focus means first of all capturing a wandering attention, becoming adept at bringing it, like a straying toddler, quickly into line. 

E-books purport to offer a rich reading environment.  A universe of books, both old and new is literally at your fingertips.  A few easy clicks of the keyboard and a book you suddenly get a whim to read is open before you.  It's exactly this technological powerhouse though that's the problem.  

As Hollier points out, Web2 technologies, with their hyperlinks, file sharing, animation and graphics  capabilities, have opened up a smorgasbord of  "side orders" to the main course of the book.  What we're getting bombarded with is more, more easily and faster.  Is this necessarily better?  We're told this is a transformative experience, opening up worlds of previously unimagined possibility.  But is it opening up, deepening, revealing;  is it expanding the level of immersion or just shallowing it out?  There is such a plethora of riches, we become spoiled for choice.  Our thoughts flit across the surface of subjects like an insect over water, never staying still long enough to absorb anything but an ephemeral glimmer.

In comparison, reading a traditional book is a singular activity.  The very nature of fixing the eye on a three dimensional, solid object held in the hands, controlled only by your own manipulation, forces you into a kind of rapt communion with that particular collection of pages, curtailed within their cover, inaccessible and separate from any exterior distraction, influence or interference.  For that piece of time, for better or for worse, you and that book are symbiotically joined. 

As well as concentration, reading is an act of contemplation … of other worlds, other characters, other ways of being.  A book is a small window into a world without horizons.  The armchair traveller is no less a traveller because he flies beyond his lounge room on the pages of a book, rather than as a passenger on an aeroplane.  And the travelling experience is a lot more congenial, avoiding as it does the need for booking flights, packing, boarding gate checks and other such indignities. 

It doesn't take much to put me off my game when I'm trying to compose my thoughts.  A case in point, even as I write this, I'm startled by the chime of an email hitting my inbox, immediately sending my already tenuous train of thought skittering wildly off the rails.  And all so I can learn that the Target Back to School sale still has some great bargains. 

The digital age is bad enough.  My own age is another cognitive impediment.  Grasping the thread of a coherent thought and holding on to it is becoming as arduous these days as trying to thread a needle.  Not having any inclination for sewing, I can happily dispense with the latter activity, but not the former.  Conceiving an original idea, tracing its progression in some sort of logical form and then transcribing it articulately is pivotal to the activity of being a writer.  My ideas too often emerge from the mental haze like diaphanous wisps, hover for a tantalising moment just beyond my reach and then dissolve into the ether like fairy floss on the tongue, leaving nothing but a faint forgotten sweetness.

If favouring printed books over e-books is going to help me in my fight against the great mental decline then there's no argument.   If the thought of the e-books I've wastefully purchased but not read bothers me, I can placate my conscience by thinking of all the reading material I'll have next time I go away somewhere.

Of horses and ballet dancers and books

Having already confessed to my bookaholism, which if anything is escalating rather than the reverse, I must now confess to a desire to complicate my obsession with reading books, by trying to write one. Rather than an indication of latent literary talent finally emerging after a long gestation, this is more likely one of those predictable age related yearnings, sort of like the desire to have a horse or be a ballet dancer in young girlhood, or a boyfriend in slightly older girlhood - all goals to which I fervently aspired at the appropriate age. The horse thing never really came to fruition, unless you count sitting astride an old saddle slung over a fence at my grandma's farm for hours fondly imagining I was Liz Taylor in National Velvet. I did give the ballet thing a real run for its money though and despite my resemblance to a long and very ungainly string bean rather than a ballet dancer, forced my mother to enrol me in classes where I eventually won a prize for "most improved". The irony of this was lost on me though and I persisted with practising en pointe at home in my slippers, despite the agony, for some time, which may well have been the genesis of my recent unfortunate foot problems. As regards the boyfriend, well probably enough said there - that dream came true in my younger days reasonably regularly although I think more the result of a complete lack of discrimination on my part, rather than any mysterious sexual magnetism. Now of course things are different. Friends (other than platonic) of the male persuasion are very thin on the ground, I'd be scared shitless to get on a horse (and so would the horse no doubt) and would probably kill myself if I attempted ballet.

No ... now that I've reached the respectability of middle age, and probably along with half the literate population, I want to write a book. Ambitious perhaps but not completely beyond the bounds of rationality, given that I quite like writing and this blogging stuff is good practice, even if I often feel like I'm just talking to myself. Dreams of best sellers aside though, I realise it would be a lot of hard graft and long hours of eschewing other more hedonistic or possibly lucrative pursuits. The only pursuit though that can truly be called lucrative in my case is work, that being currently of the 9-5 variety and monopolising a fair amount of my physical if not mental energy. Fruitless as it may be as an outlet for intellectual creativity, it is sadly non-negotiable as an option, especially as I have to finance the aforementioned bookaholism somehow.

However even after having absorbed the statistics that 556,500 Australians reputedly engage in writing as a creative or leisure activity, but only 185,500 have paid involvement in writing (even for a maths dunderhead like me I think that means that only a slender minority can ever hope to make a buck from this "activity"), I still think it's worth a shot. Some years ago I had similar ambitions I recall and actually enrolled in a creative writing course. An interesting experience from which I learnt not much except that the tutor (who specialised in bush ballads I think) and I had quite polarised opinions about my literary potential. I'm afraid at that time I took his probably highly deserved and no doubt constructive criticism personally and took my budding magnus opus and went home in a huff.

Now though I'm made of sterner stuff and even the thought that often crosses my mind that surely there are more than enough books and misguided scribblers in the world already is not enough to deter me. There are of course books by the tonload and it's likely anything I could possibly have to say to add to the wisdom or entertainment of the world has already been said and possibly more incisively by hundreds of others. But equally there's lots of publishers, agents, book sellers, printers, bookshops and all the rest of the literary paraphernalia still making a gainful living out of books ... and they're not all reprints ... and someone has to write them .. and indeed even if my efforts meet with scorn, derision or simply the disparagement of a new age Henry Lawson, why should I at least not have a go?

What to read???

Fellow bookaholics can probably relate to the nagging sense of anxiety that I feel every time my pile of books to be read starts to dwindle and the prospect of having nothing to read starts to keep me awake at night ... another definition of insanity perhaps, considering that if I actually sat down and read all the unread books I've bought still lying around, it would probably take me at least until Christmas (not sure which year)!!!

Nevertheless I do like to plan ahead to avert such a possible (if unlikely) catastrophe and as a result start thinking about books I might like to get out of the library well ahead of time. Like me, when it comes to fiction, you probably have favourite authors who can always be reliably depended upon to come up with something unputdownable, to the extent that opening the first page of one of their unread novels and plunging in could almost be likened to the buzz produced by indulging in other more physical addictions!

Sometimes when I'm casting around looking for another "fix" I've thought I should be more adventurous and try authors I haven't previously read, or find books similar in style or story line to the ones I typically go for. This can be a long laborious process if it involves trolling through the library shelves or a good way to while away a few hours if it involves browsing a real or virtual bookstore (which can of course be fun but life is short), So I was really pleased to discover a great website recently that offers the facility to conduct this process for you.

It's called "Fantastic Fiction" and claims to have bibliographies for over 15,000 authors and information on over 250,000 books (so some of your faves have got to be in there). Everything and more you always wanted to know about fiction authors and their books is there, e.g. new and forthcoming hard and paperbacks, all their novels, non-fiction works, awards, what books the author recommends, where you can buy new, used and on Ebay, and if you go to a particular book, you can find a list of similar books by other authors!!! Bliss for bookaholics! Happy reading!

Susan Jeffers

I have always had an interest in the field of personal growth and have read a number of books over the years on how to understand ourselves and others better, how to deal with the difficulties life throws our way, how to establish and maintain better and more lasting relationships and many other aspects of life that sometimes seem really hard to grapple with alone. I do feel the insights offered in some of these books are really worthwhile and although obviously one needs to adapt what is relevant for their own circumstances, it is surprising how often a new approach to a long standing dilemma can reveal itself in such writing.

An author in this genre I have recently come to know and admire is Susan Jeffers. I have read several of her books, "Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway", "Embracing Uncertainty", "The Feal the Fear Guide to Lasting Love" and most recently "Opening our Hearts to Men". Her consistent message throughout her books is that when we get in touch with our higher consciousness and switch off the ego-driven reactions, it becomes much easier to operate with a sense of love, caring, calmness and self-confidence, rather than fear of failure or rejection. Developing a strong sense of self-worth is difficult in the face of disappointments, loneliness, career obstacles, family and relationship problems, but as Susan Jeffers points out, if we focus primarily on addressing our own attitudes and taking responsibility for addressing the problems, and less on judging others, it opens the way for real insights and real solutions.

She has proposed this approach on a broader scale as an answer to stopping violence and promoting peace in the world. If we each really try to reduce the amount of negativity in our thoughts and actions, we can add to a critical mass where life-changing actions can begin to take place and blame, hatred and alienation can be transformed into caring, healing and peace. A great message I think, but it all starts with us.

Bookaholics Anonymous

Given my addiction to books, I was intrigued to note there is in fact such an entity as "BA", although currently no chapter exists in South Australia. Perhaps I should start one. However with the escalating popularity of Blogs on every conceivable subject, not surprisingly there is a multitude dedicated to books. So probably enough is enough. For those who are interested in checking out book blogs, BookFox gives a fairly comprehensive list.

My love of reading started from a very early age. When I turned one, my grandmother presented me with the first of many "Anne of Green Gables" books, presumably on the premise that it's never to early to develop a love of books. (I'd like to say I read it in one sitting, but child prodigy I wasn't!). My reading tastes could be called eclectic, or more honestly random and haphazard and I usually have several on the go at once. I'll keep my "current reading" list updated and will welcome any suggestions, recommendations, reviews or whatever.