21st Century Digital Book Lady

2009 at 9am     Posted by Rebecca Joines Schinsky

(my apologies to Bad Religion for the bastardization of their song title)

btt2This week’s BTT is a little bit different. The primary discussion is actually taking place in the comments at BTT, but I wanted to discuss it here as well. Here’s the prompt:  First. Go read this great article from Time Magazine: Books Gone Wild: The Digital Age Reshapes Literature. (Well worth reading.)

Second. Stop and think about it for moment. Computers and digital media are changing everything we do these days, whether we realize it or not, and that includes our beloved books.

Third. DISCUSS!

Tell us what you think. Do you have an ebook reader? Do you read ebooks on your computer? Do you hate the very thought? How do you feel about the fact that book publishing is changing and facing much the same existential dilemma as the music industry upon the creation of MP3s?

Oh, I have a lot of thoughts on this subject, so buckle up. Before I dive into the issues I have with the claims this article makes (claims, I’d like to note, for which the author offers very little evidence), I will acknowledge that publishing is changing. I see it and hear about it everyday, and yes, the business model is outmoded. The rise of digital media poses an interesting problem for publishers who now have to adapt to readers’ desires for books in various formats. We need to make some changes.

While we are witnessing a time of transition, we are not, dear readers, about to see the demise of traditional books. I don’t have a Kindle or a Sony Reader because I love the tactile experiences that come with real books. I love the way they feel in my hands, the sound the pages make when I flip through them for the first time. I love the way they smell. I love that I can write in them, underline passages, and mark pages to come back to later. I know you can do that on ebook readers, but if you take your Kindle to the beach, you’ll have to worry about getting sand on it, and if you read while you’re eating lunch, what happens when you spill your soda?

And what about bookshelves? If you’re like me, you like to keep the books you love in a special place and display them in your home. It’s a quick way for people to get to know me, and it’s a reminder for me of one of the great loves of my life. Without actual books, what am I supposed to do? Put my Kindle on a backlit pedestal in the center of my living room?

Now, I know I can’t knock the convenience of being able to carry around hundreds of books in a simple device, and I won’t lie—I’m thinking about putting an ebook reader on my next list for Santa because I do get tired of hauling tons of books around when I travel. There are circumstances in which I think having an ebook reader would be nice. But I’ll never give up real books.

And I don’t think most readers will, either. I think MP3s and digitial music downloading created such a problem for the music industry precisely because most people aren’t attached to the way their music is delivered to them the way that readers are attached to books. Yes, there are purists who are wholly devoted to vinyl, but for the most part, who cares if a song comes from a record, a tape, a CD, or an MP3? You only hold one of those items for as long as it takes you to load it into your stereo, car, or iPod. When you read, you spend hours—even days or weeks—in close contact with each book, and it starts to mean something. I might enjoy the convenience of a digital book every now and then, but I’m not willing to give up the enjoyment of holding a real book, and I don’t think many people are.

But there’s another side of me that thinks “well, whatever it takes to keep people reading.” If we can use ebooks to promote literacy and get people who don’t normally read to read more, that’s a good thing…..as long as what they’re reading is of the same quality as actual books.

And that brings me to a few of the statements in the Time article that I’d like to discuss.

(Are you still with me?)

The novel won’t stay the same: it has always been exquisitely sensitive to newness, hence the name. It’s about to renew itself again, into something cheaper, wilder, trashier, more democratic and more deliriously fertile than ever.

Change and renewal are good. “Something cheaper, wilder, trashier”? Not so much. More people reading is a good thing, but not if what they’re reading is crap. Call me a snob, but I feel pretty adamantly about that. This article refers a lot to the rise of fan fiction and amateur publishing, and while those are interesting phenomena that allow more people to have a creative outlet and that do, just every now and then, result in a great book that would not otherwise be published, it does not mean we need to have “publishing without publishers.”  There is still (and, I hope, will always be) a market for well-written literature that is not just cheap and easy but that contributes something to the consciousness and intellectual development of its readers. The formal vetting processes used by publishers may let some good ones slip through the cracks—and, on the other hand, may result in some duds being published—but it generally serves to weed out the crap, and that’s a good thing.

Compared with the time and cost of replicating a digital file and shipping it around the world–i.e., zero and nothing–printing books on paper feels a little Paleolithic.

Fair enough, but there’s something to be said for tradition, and again with the whole “reading is a tactile experience” thing. And what was that about getting what you pay for? If free/cheap books = lower quality books, I’m not interested.

Saying you were a self-published author used to be like saying you were a self-taught brain surgeon. But over the past couple of years, vanity publishing has become practically respectable. As the technical challenges have decreased–you can turn a Word document on your hard drive into a self-published novel on Amazon’s Kindle store in about five minutes–so has the stigma. Giga-selling fantasist Christopher Paolini started as a self-published author. After Brunonia Barry self-published her novel The Lace Reader in 2007, William Morrow picked it up and gave her a two-book deal worth $2 million. The fact that William P. Young’s The Shack was initially self-published hasn’t stopped it from spending 34 weeks on the New York Times best-seller list.

These are a few extreme examples of books that slipped through the cracks the first time around but for which there was clearly a market. They represent a very, very small percent of self-published books. Believe me–I get phone calls from local self-published authors who want to set up publicity events all the time, and 9 times out of 10, it’s an automatic “no” after one look at the book.  (Read a published author’s take on self-publishers here) The Time author’s anecdotal evidence is nice, but we can’t and shouldn’t use it to make sweeping generalizations.

But Genova and Barry and Suarez got filtered out, initially, which suggests that there are cultural sectors that conventional publishing isn’t serving. We can read in the rise of self-publishing not only a technological revolution but also a quiet cultural one–an audience rising up to claim its right to act as a tastemaker too.

There are certainly cultural sectors that are underserved by our present publishing model—if there aren’t enough people interested in the particular area to make a book profitable, it doesn’t get published, and I would like to see that changed so we can maximize the number of people reading and promoting literacy. But Genova and Barry and Suarez (and Paolini) have all written relatively mainstream books. It would have been a shame if they had not been published, but their absence would not have left a gaping hole in the body of contemporary literature.

If readers want to pay for the old-school premium package, they can get their literature the old-fashioned way: carefully selected and edited, and presented in a bespoke, art-directed paper package.

And that’s how I want it, personally. For the most part, it’s like the difference between community theatre and Broadway.

Reading on a screen speeds you up: you don’t linger on the language; you just click through. We’ll see less modernist-style difficulty and more romance-novel-style sentiment and high-speed-narrative throughput. Novels will compete to hook you in the first paragraph and then hang on for dear life.

None of this is good or bad; it just is.

Hello, this is definitely bad. “You don’t linger on the language; you just click through.” How is that not bad? Sure, we all enjoy the occasional brain-candy beach read, but literature is art. Writers work for years to hone their craft. Beautiful, intricate, lyrical language is one of the reasons I love books. And I don’t want to read anything that is written in a way that encourages me to “just click through.” Thanks, but no. If I want to turn off my brain, I’ll turn on the TV.

The author defends the idea that books will, essentially, be dumbed down and says we just have to get used to it because even novels weren’t well received when they came about. People in the 1800s

thought novels were vulgar and immoral. And in a way they were, and that was what was great about them: they shocked and seduced people into new ways of thinking. These books will too.

How is a book that is designed for instant gratification and pure entertainment and which does not inspire us to think at all going to do that? Please enlighten me.

Don’t get me wrong—I love books, and I believe passionately in supporting the publishing industry and doing whatever it takes to keep literature alive and well. But I don’t want just any books. I want publishing to survive and thrive and to continue giving us high quality books that have the power to transport us to other worlds, to challenge our ways of thinking, to expose us to new and difficult ideas, and to make us smarter, better, more thoughtful human beings. I don’t want a reading diet made up of only airport books, and I don’t want a bunch of cheap fan fiction or unedited amateur writing just because it might be convenient.

I spend upwards of 40 hours a week in a bricks-and-mortar bookstore. Yes, sales are difficult right now because of the economy, but we aren’t hurting as much as most other companies and industries. Electronics stores—those bastions of digital convenience and high-tech instant gratification—are in debt and going out of business, but people are still buying books. Why? Because books have lasting value that you’re just not going to find in a video game or DVD. There’s just something about books, and I’m pretty sure they’re here to stay.

What do you think? Share your thoughts here, and join the discussion at Booking Through Thursday.