Books

"I love to read," confesses a friend. "My favourite thing to do right after I wake up is pick up a book and read it in bed. It's like a slow start to the day."

I merely nod - my favourite thing to do right after I wake up is stare at the ceiling and think, but I'm not one to judge. "So do you have physical books, or a Kindle?"

My friend stares at me with some degree of horror. "A real book, of course."

Now don't get me wrong. The future of books is probably the Kindle. Given the ease of storage, the savings on both paper and printing, and the increased speed at which a digital book can be acquired compared to a real one, I don't see paper books lasting too much longer. That said, I grew up with books that were a weight in my lap, which had pages which had to be grasped to be turned. Part of my notion of reading involves curling up on a sofa or a comfortable chair with my back to a well-lit window, the feel of paper between my fingers. Maybe future generations will have a different idea of what is involved in reading. I don't know.

About a week ago I ordered some books from Amazon.com, including Machine of Death (a fantastic anthology, I might talk a bit more about it at some point) and What Do You Care What Other People Think? by the absolutely brilliant Richard Feynman. When they arrived, I unpacked the books and put them away, with the exception of Feynman's book, which I intended to read immediately. I plopped myself   onto my bed, a pillow at my back, and opened the book. Within seconds I was in the world the author had woven. There were only words on the paper, but my mind supplied the details - the sights, sounds, even smells - which each new word implied. I barely noticed the turning of the pages - they hardly registered as a break in the narrative's flow.

I don't think there's anything else out there which can quite compare to the experience of reading.