The death of the book.

I just watched a documentary by the BBC (and my thoughts on that particular organisation are on record) bemoaning the fate of the printed book. Reams have already been written on that particular subject - literally reams, but ultimately, who cares?

   I've been reading all my life. I don't remember a time when I couldn't read and lose myself in imaginary world from which reality only occasionally interrupted. I must have read thousands and continue to read hundreds every year.

   Last year someone bought me a Kindle. There are a couple of things I don't like about it; mainly that crappy keyboard which I've never used. But that aside it's a wonderful invention. It also means that every four years or so I don't have to dump dozens of books that my wife has threatened to torch because they're taking up too much room.

   Yes, the Kindle doesn't smell of anything, other than that which I drip down it, but it's still a book. I can read forever, power supplies permitting. I no longer have to throw books away and finally, I can indulge a lifelong hobby without the cat or my daughter dropping jam or something even more smelly over them.

   So if paper books eventually bite the proverbial dust, again, who cares. I get to continue  reading but no longer have to agonise about rain forests.

   And as for aspiring authors like me - I don't see how it matters either way.