It’s been a while since I’ve read a massive paperback book. The kind of book so large that it’s not fit for the human hand. The kind you hold up with spread fingers, and it’s way too heavy, but you need to keep it aloft or it will fall on your face.
And, well, it’s just been nice. The look of ink on real paper and watching the remaining pages shrink. It’s satisfying in a way that digital books are not—and could never hope to emulate.
But does that mean I’m one of those people who won’t read digital books? No, not at all. I cannot tell you how often in my life it’s been nice to have a book in my pocket.
It’s also just needed sometimes for space logistics. I don’t know how the true bookaholics store their collections. I just have the books I’ve accumulated since I was a little Brandon Scott, and they take up an absurd amount of room.
Also, as odd as it sounds, some books I’ve read were just fleeting sources of entertainment, or because I wanted to know a chunk of data. It’s like buying DVDs (does that make me old to mention them?). You do it only for the movies you love and want to always have access to, no matter what.
But this book I’m reading is worth it. It and its sequels I want on my shelf. I want to read them all with tactile feedback included and feel accomplished when I turn the last page.