Paper Books: Just Kindle-ing?

Heh. Sorry about that pun. Gabriella requested a post on the Kindle, and as you know, I am but putty in your hands. So here’s the truth.

My fabulous, generous brother gave me a Kindle a couple of years ago. And I returned it.

I know. I am rude and heartless. I am also completely out of character. I mean, this is a small, shiny apparatus. It’s got buttons. It’s got reading. What’s my problem?

Here’s the thing. I like books.

Obviously I love reading. I can’t imagine a day without it. But what I mean is, I love books. Actual, physical books. I love paper. I love cracking the spine of a new one. I love the smell of old books. I love turning pages. I love dog-earing the corner of a page with a great quote on it. I love lending people books and getting their favorites in return. I even built myself an actual little library.

I know it makes no sense; I of all people should adore the compactness, the ease, the simplicity, the eco-friendliness, the overall sensible-ness of the Kindle. And perhaps eventually I will. I just can’t get there yet.