Books Are Not Objects

I have some of the best friends in the world.

If you doubt me, consider this: on multiple occasions I have moved from one place to another, and by happenstance or oversight, those moves have tended to take place in sub-optimal moving weather.

One moving day in Pennsylvania brought pouring rain, which was less than ideal for the handful of buddies who helped me lug stuff from my third-floor apartment down to the double-parked U-Haul outside. Even more trying was when Katie and I moved into our first home. In Arizona. In July. You know, a sunny and unusually humid day with a high of 110° F.

Now, lots of people have moved and lots of people have helped their friends move. But my friends are substantially above average (you know who you are) because they have helped me carry boxes and boxes of books – actual, physical books with hundreds of pages each!

Inevitably, some of these friends have seized upon these opportunities to tell me about a powerful – and remarkably small, lightweight – invention called the Kindle. And in those exhausted, sweat-soaked, dehydrated moments, I’ll admit I’ve been at least moderately persuaded.

But at the end of the day, I’m a traditionalist, a materialist, a Luddite. As the endlessly patient Katie can attest, a sizable percentage of my enjoyment of reading comes from subconsciously twirling the pages of a well-designed Penguin paperback.

That’s one of the reasons I so resonate with what the novelist and editor William Giraldi has to say in defense of physical books (and, indirectly, of those who own them): “Books are not objects in the same way that shoes are objects.”

That’s what I'll keep telling myself, anyway, at least until the time comes to solicit moving help yet again.