"Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns driven time and again, off course, once he had plundered the hallowed heights of Troy...." Homer just felt out of place; trapped in circuit and screen, wrapped in anodised aluminium. The text just seemed to prattle. It felt atopic, not in its substance, but in its presentation. It felt like it was just floating above the surface. It lacked texture. It lacked opacity. It lacked the flatness of print.Umapagan Ampikaipakan in the New Straits Times (and one of the most enthusiastic and clued up readers I know) succumbs to curiosity and buys himself an e-book reader, but reckons physical books will actually undergo a resurgence :
The device itself felt unfamiliar in my hands; its frigid metal made my fingers numb. I had only been using it for a few days and I already missed the warmth of paper. I missed its yellowish tinge, its redolence.
If this is indeed the future of literature, then allow me to state my objections. You see, the pleasure of text goes beyond its mere consumption. The pleasure of text exists in its experience. The pleasure of text lies in its linearity. Already I miss that sense of accomplishment of having one side thicken as the other side thins. I miss being able to feel that gradual progression in my hands.
I miss the weight of it all. Ulysses should feel heavier than Jonathan Livingston Seagull. To carry Proust around in your pocket steals from its stature. For it should be as toilsome a task to lift it as it is to read it.
I miss the paper cuts.
Because after swimming for so long in online data streams, we will need to seek out the the stationary words that only a page can offer. We will need to disconnect. To go offline. And the book will forever be our haven.I think that is very true!
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