On my desk are three old books: Macaulay’s essays, vol. 1 (no date); Lamb’s works Vol. 1, 1857; and Ruskin’s Works (no date). Each of these was half bound in leather with marbled papers filling in the rest of the binding. The pages are a little yellowed. Some of them have water stains, probably decades old. The proximity to the life of their authors is rather close in all cases. I have not read them yet, but I find myself looking at them often.
One of our art history instructors has commented that there is a danger in being exposed to work only digitally: we cease seeing a piece of art as an object and start to see it as data. I wonder if we may be close to making the same mistake with books. With these old volumes that I am drawn to, the idea of book-as-an-item is obvious. They are visual, tactile and olfactory encounters as well as intellectual stimulation. When I touch them, I am also touching all the readers who came to this book before me. Their fingerprints may well be on the books still.
I own an e-book reader and enjoy it. I enjoy the ability to gain instant access to books that are not available in my local bookstores. I enjoy the portability of it. In one small device, I have dozens of books. I tolerate the cold sterility of it because of its usefulness. I even try to dress it up on warm leathers. I have yet to try the old book smelling perfumes. I can only deceive myself so much.
