The Plain Tree

E-books have won me over, but editing problems are no small deal

A month after bringing home the iPad, I have discovered something “magical” indeed:  e-books are no threat to the paper books I love.  In fact, I feel that paper books and e-books can–and will, and already do–co-exist peacefully.   Since I am a librarian by trade, this statement feels vaguely traitorous.  Many libraries are struggling to implement e-book lending programs, and many others lack the budget or institutional will.

Furthermore, I have written before about the importance of brick-and-mortar institutions like libraries, community centers and public schools; like many other mid-twenties hipsters, I treasure my “real” books, “real” classroom, and “real” social networks.    One of my most prized possessions is my 1887 Thoughts from Marcus Aurelius, whose hand-painted cloth cover, sliver title lettering, and Kensington Press-inspired typeface speak of the authors’ and publishers’ regard for the work.  Here is a book that has been with us for 127 years, and, with only a little care and attention, it will easily outlive me:  the binding is tight, the type easily legible, the pages not even brittle (brittle books are a problem for libraries all over the world).  Try handing your iPad or Kindle down to your grandchildren in 40 years.  Watch them laugh.  But Thoughts will still be here, and there will still be someone out there to read it.  Now that’s magical.

But not all paper-and-ink books are Thoughts from Marcus Aurelius, c. 1887. In fact, if e-books eliminate any kind of book, surely the mass market paperback should be the the first to go.  And good riddance. Since the rise of the pulp novel, book lovers have lamented the unattractive, short-lived books churned out in the millions by publishers too cheap to make a work of craftsmanship, and readers too cheap to buy them.  These books consume feet of valuable space in the library, stand up very poorly to multiple readings and are deeply difficult to repair (it’s usually not worth the time investment).  As much as I love Lee Child, the paperback version of his Running Blind is not much better than my iPad in terms of its shelf-life–and it may be quite a bit worse.  These books were not made to endure, any more than an e-book is made with shelf-life in mind.  If the publishers of the book have such little regard for the story, I don’t see why I should weep over its transformation from lousy paper book to dynamic, searchable, glow-in-the-dark e-book.

Plus, it's less to pack when I finally move out of Mom's basement

The truth is that mass market books are a relatively modern invention.  The idea that a regular, working-class person would be able to afford a book–or even be able to read–is an innovation of the modern era.  While the history of stories and storytelling is bound up with the history of human life, most written books are  (geotemporally speaking) children of the Age of Aquarius, and public libraries certainly are.  So despite my feelings on the matter, the idea that e-books betray a long tradition of reading and writing is frankly ludicrous.  I love paper books:  browsing, touching, sharing and reading them.  And I love e-books:  reading, buying and traveling with them.

Which does nothing to alleviate the miserable, soul-crushing experience of a badly digitized book.  Recently I downloaded Orson Scott Card’s Shadow of the Hegemon from the iBookstore.  I remembered this book from my childhood, and I am now evaluating it for my library’s new teen program.  Things seemed to be going well until I read this sentence:

Read more »