I was walking around Exclusive Books when the truth about Amazon’s Kindle hit me.
All around me were ensembles of newly released books arranged seductively on counter tops.
In my bag was my Kindle, capable of downloading all the words around me and presenting them one page at a time at the click of a button.
It is self-evident that books and Kindles are worlds apart.
A book occupies space. At a glance you have a sense of its heft. Then there is the cover.
I’m ashamed to say it, but I have always judged a book by its cover.
There have been exceptions where the cover has not mattered and these have usually been non-fiction titles.
But when it comes to fiction, a book’s cover sets the tone, initiates the sequence of imagining and instantly reminds you of context when you return to it after a break.
A Kindle, by contrast, is a utilitarian masterpiece.
It does not seek your admiration. It does not command your attention.
The screen is a pale grey, the text is a neat dark grey.
That’s it. You can find the book cover with a bit of effort, but it is very different to the original. It too is rendered in two contrasting shades of grey.
But there is another, more subtle difference that distinguishes these two mediums.
It relates to the notion of social networking.
Books are for reading, but they are also for telling.
When you read your book in a public space, you tell others about yourself, your interests, your knowledge and your personality in some small way.
At home books on a table or on a shelf send out similar social signals.
I’m not talking here about the deliberate arrangement of books by those seeking to create a false impression.
I’m talking about the casual accumulation of books that occurs over many years of reading what is interesting to you.
Not so with a Kindle. You could be reading Spike Milligan or Suetonius and no-one would be the wiser.
Your Kindle keeps your secrets. Reading it is a very private experience.
It’s between you and words. Nothing else matters.
The only social signal it sends is that you are an early-adopting geek. After this Christmas it will send the signal that you may be the relative of an early adopting geek.
But even that obtuse signal is doomed to become background noise as these reading devices proliferate. Then the Kindle will say nothing at all.
We are the first generation that has begun adapting to such a device and the next generation probably won’t want it any other way.
But in the meantime, I am confining my Kindle to the downloading of reference books, magazines, journals and newspapers.
Actually I lie. I have downloaded some fiction.
And I’m reading it word by word. Silently. Without the social noise.

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