The joy of reading books

The lament is not new: people don't read books anymore. In fact, this refrain is so well-worn that it's at risk of becoming a cliche. Television was going to be the end of books. Video games were going to be the end of books. Computers were going to be the end of books. The Internet was definitely going to be the end of books. And yet people still read them. But will books' luck ever run out?

In a previous life, I was preparing for a career as a book editor in Manhattan. Last summer, I heard the head of digital media for HarperCollins Publishers talk about whether the publishing industry faced a threat from the rise of e-books and devices like the Kindle (which is basically a portable e-book reader). Her stance was instructive. "We own the content. The consumer decides on the form. If people want to read all their books electronically, that's fine. If people want everything on audiobook, no problem. Printing companies may be in trouble if books go by the wayside, but we're not threatened at all."

When you stop to think about it, this makes perfect sense. No matter if they end up traditionally bound, recorded on CD or rendered digitally, manuscripts still need editing, stories still need marketing and packages still need designing. There is no position in the publishing house that is threatened by the theoretical extinction of the book. (Although this is not true of newspapers. Newspapers are dependent upon advertising revenue, which is itself directly linked to circulation. The book will endure, but the newspaper's future is less certain.)

Indeed, there is no question that book sales are down. This trend has lasted for years; people are simply not buying as many books as they used to. Moreover, people are not reading as many books as they used to. This does not mean people are consuming less literature than before, though, merely reading fewer books. He courts obsolescence who denies literature's dynamism, its capacity to grow and evolve into shapes and forms previously unconsidered. The concept of literature, define it as you will, preceded the book and will survive it as well.

And yet I cannot wholly abjure the book. Reading a book brings a rush of sensory pleasures all its own. Who does not relish the scent of a brand-new volume, its heft in your hands, the whisper of its pages flitting past? These things will never be duplicated on a compact disc or a computer screen.

With all that said, I find that I read much less than I would like. Granted, schoolwork and other responsibilities cut deeply into my reading time. The time I do have to read, consequently, is that much sweeter. I finished Gary Thomas's Sacred Marriage over the weekend (interesting book; worth a look if you're married or engaged, but otherwise there's not much there for you), and he mentioned offhandedly in one section that he reads thirty to forty books a year plus assorted magazines. Reading one book every nine to twelve days is not a bad clip!

The rate at which you read, of course, is far less important than the fact that you're reading books at all. With more than fifty books in my own reading queue, I am deeply excited for my winter break, which starts tomorrow afternoon. (And far more exciting is that I get to see my beautiful Ellen tomorrow!)