I am, I have discovered, a print purist.

The pleasure in reading, for me, isn’t only about the story. It is also about the physical book itself. The book in my hand, and turning the pages. The presence of that object in my life at that moment (and its absence, when I often wander through the house, trying to remember where I left my book). It is flipping back through pages to re-read a particularly good bit.  It is also remembering where I was and how I felt when I was reading it.

Also reading in the bath, which would be extremely dicey with my ipad.

When people sing the praises of e-books—the portability, the availability, the general coolness—I have two simultaneous internal reaction. One is a sort of mental shrug: it just isn’t my thing. (Part of the shrug is the thought of how printed books don’t require any more technology than turning the page with your finger.) One is a tiny bit envious: if you can happily read e-books, you do get the portability and the availability. (Except in the bath) You never have to wish you hadn’t forgotten your book in the car when you’re stuck in stationary traffic on the M6. Part of me, in other words, would like to be able to read e-books while still maintaining all of the other pleasures of reading print books.

(I have thought about using Audible, as I could see myself enjoying audiobooks – but it seems quite a chunk of money for something I’m not that sure about)

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