Given that I use Facebook, Twitter and am writing this on a Dell laptop for a cyberspace WordPress blog audience, I feel somewhat disingenuous, behind the times saying I will never own an e-reader. Obviously, I have to read my dear reader’s blog posts, not to mention the ocean of news, commentaries and articles from the Imaginative Conservative, EWTN and the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy online.
But e-reading the Summa Theologica or sacred Scripture? Never. ♥
The deal is this: I read online quite enough, thank you. I don’t mind utilizing writer-friendly, ever evolving, convenient hardware keyboards and software available to us today. They are a blessing. But for really in-depth, concentrated reading, I prefer real, timeless, bounded paper. Something about a real book impresses me more strongly about a writer’s knowledge and wisdom. I recall from college that I was more inclined to remember something I read in a book as compared to something online.
Another plus: Books cannot be accidentally deleted.
C.S., I hear you.
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“I am a product […of] endless books. My father bought all the books he read and never got rid of any of them. There were books in the study, books in the drawing room, books in the cloakroom, books (two deep) in the great bookcase on the landing, books in a bedroom, books piled as high as my shoulder in the cistern attic, books of all kinds reflecting every transient stage of my parents’ interest, books readable and unreadable, books suitable for a child and books most emphatically not. Nothing was forbidden me. In the seemingly endless rainy afternoons I took volume after volume from the shelves. I had always the same certainty of finding a book that was new to me as a man who walks into a field has of finding a new blade of grass.”