Out of the gray mist of my fogyish mind emerges something I once read.
These things influence you and cumulatively make you the person you become, but
when they pop into consciousness, only the point – the part that made the
difference in your development – remains.
It was about some explorers – anthropologists maybe –taking up residence
in a primitive culture. I can remember neither the name of the visitors nor
that of the people they studied.
The natives had become used to
marvels. These foreigners bounced about
in Jeeps and even landed in small planes.
It all became as humdrum to the villagers as it is to us today. Then the wizards installed a pipe to bring
water from a distant spring into the middle of the village, and the locals gaped
in awe. Carrying water had been hard and
necessary work, and presto, water was
made to appear right where it was needed.
The mysterious strangers had at last accomplished a miracle that meant something. Up to that time it was as though they’d been
sawing ladies in half and putting them back together again – amusing, but not
exactly important. Now that the
backbreaking labor of hauling water had been made to vanish through the magic
of plumbing, there was new respect for the visitors.
Naturally I got this information from a printed page. The reason that I thought of it was I have
acquired a Kindle. I was going to tell
you I’m the proud owner of a Kindle, but clichés don’t always say what you want
them to. I’m not proud. I've been resisting Kindle ownership on
ethical grounds.
I’m a lover of used books. I sell
them every summer at the Plymouth Antiquarian Fair. I love the fact that books have lives that
extend from owner to owner and I’m proud to be part of the system of passing
them on. This year we didn’t get as many
donations as we have in the past. There
are many possible reasons, but it was suggested that people are buying their
books on Kindle and don’t have to clear their shelves.
I have a nightmare fantasy of some Orwellian dictatorship in which the
Ministry of Truth gains control of the providers of e-books. There can’t be that many of them. There doesn’t need to be an orgy of book
burning like there was in Nazi Germany.
Some night a signal reaches out and books are altered or disappear. I saw my new Kindle quietly turn itself on
and upgrade. It was eerie.
Where are the original copies of the Gospels? The answer is they no longer exist. For centuries when the old editions were
gnawed by rats or riddled with worms, monks laboriously copied them by hand and
protected them in libraries. Our oldest
versions are in Greek, which was not the language of Jesus and his friends. The
work of translation went on and on.
Parchment and paper carried the Word.
Now it is possible to fear that form of the preservation of literature
is about to end. Our heritage may dwell
in the cloud.
I have to admit my Kindle is a nifty little thing. It’s portable and can hold a lot of
books. I used to have a recurring dream
that I was walking through my house and discovered a door I hadn’t noticed
before. I opened it and found myself in
a library crammed with books. Now I can hold such a library on my Kindle,
and if they are old books and out of copyright, I can download them for free. My
Kindle is like the trickle of water in the primitive village, and I’m impressed
in spite of myself.
The Kindle has a clear screen with crisp print that’s easy to read. If my eyes begin to fail I can increase the
size of the type. The device has a nice
feel to it. It’s solid but not too heavy,
and the back has a satiny finish that’s pleasant to touch. It almost makes up for the tactile feeling of
real books that I’ve learned to love. I
don’t want to fall in love with my Kindle, but I may.
Fogies are the natural enemies of the newfangled. It is for us to
treasure the old ways and preserve them if we can. It is also for us to move into smaller
quarters and let our possessions, including our books pass into the care of
others. I see myself in a room in a
nursing home rereading Moby Dick on
my Kindle. Then I will fade into the
Great Elsewhere and leave the world to the young. Maybe it will be all right.
