We’ve come far in our culture, to the point that we now have digital books and can pick one from millions on a whim and begin reading it in a minute. The pace of technological change—though thrilling—is often confusing. And you can feel like you’re never quite caught up. You can subscribe to a hundred news feeds, if you know how to do that, and you still won’t be caught up, because the pace of technological change outpaces even specialists in the field.
It’s no wonder that a lot of the people I talk to are confused by ebooks. They don’t know which way to turn, which page to turn, which e-reader to use, or why they should even use them. And I totally empathize about how confusing technology can be. But technology is just a tool, like hammers and nails, although fussier, more prone to crashing, and more in need of firmware updates and special USB cables.
Once you get your head behind the ebook revolution, once you untangle yourself from all the different power cords and USB cords and actually start reading an ebook, I think you’ll realize as I did how useful these books are for culture, for reading. Ebooks, more than print books, offer an immediacy of meaning. After all, a dictionary is built into most e-readers, so the definition of an unfamiliar word is usually just one click away.
If this alone isn’t an educational improvement, then consider communal annotations and how they help readers to understand a digital textbook better. Each reader can make their own annotations to the same digital book, and all annotations across multiple readers can be added together. Some e-readers, like Amazon’s, show you the number of times that a given passage has been annotated. There’s often a wisdom to crowds, and in many cases, the most frequently annotated lines in a book are the most salient, the most useful for learning that chapter’s point.
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This, though, is the paradox of ebooks: if you accept that children should read and that ebooks can teach as much as a print book, why didn’t we digitize textbooks first? Because we didn’t. Instead, we digitized fiction, sci-fi, romances, The New York Times bestsellers, and yes, pornography. Stuff we knew we could sell. But it’s content that hasn’t reached children in a significant way.
This is the central paradox of our ebook revolution: digital content won’t really succeed until it’s part of our culture from a very early age, and I mean from first grade onward, from the time children start reading. E-readers need to be flexible and sophisticated enough in their features to allow that. Right now, they’re just not adequate.
There are some neat experiments—as I write this, for example, I have friends in the publishing industry who have quit their jobs in Manhattan and gone to work in Silicon Valley for a company that builds e-readers for students. These devices have two folding screens, side by side like pages in a book, that allow you to write and scribble and draw and download and read books.
Tech experiments like this are what we need to really make education work digitally. And until we do that, ebooks will be something that’s bolted on to our culture. Ebooks won’t really be part of our culture until we’re raised with them, until we’re digital natives who stare with newborn eyes at these phosphorescent eInk displays.
Of course, a part of me yearns for good old-fashioned print books. And if I ever had a child, I can see how difficult it would be for me to choose whether to let the child read ebooks or use a computer or even have a smartphone. I’m sensitive to these issues, and a lot of parents I talk to also are worried that their kids will be distracted from reading by videos or social networking apps on an iPad or screeching monkeys in a game built into an ebook.
Teachers are worried too.
Professors are bemoaning the loss of critical thinking skills in today’s students and the loss of active reading skills. When we passively consume content, lazily let our brains stop doing the hard work of reading, and turn instead to the distractions of tweets and games, we’re changing our brains. We are what we eat, and the same is true of our digital diet. We are the media we consume, distractions and all. In the Stone Age, our ancestors listened to birdsong and bee hum, and that was media enough for their minds. Then we developed song and story. But now we’re no longer content with the oral tradition, as Socrates was, nor are we content with reading and writing. We want distractions. And we want digital distractions most of all, because they’re convenient, downloadable to our devices in under sixty seconds.
In fact, our habits for digital distractions and passive content consumption are putting us in danger of becoming a new species.
I’m not saying that we’re going to become robotic Cylons. But we are in danger of becoming a species whose brains are wired totally differently than the humans who came before us. A species that can’t reason critically, can’t engage in active imagination, and can’t read into a mystery and figure out who murdered the butler before the novel ends. With the increasing interconnectedness that our devices afford us, this new species is likely to be much more social, like hyperactive orangutans on Facebook. I can’t say what this new rewired species is ultimately capable of. Socrates himself couldn’t say what the future of reading and writing would hold. He just rejected it wholesale.
We don’t need to reject digital culture altogether. We just need to be careful. Stick to dedicated experiences and be wary of digital distractions. Set a time limit for the amount of time you or your children use in consuming media. Resist the impulse to tweet something every ten minutes. (It takes your brain at least twenty minutes to focus itself again after a distraction.)
It’s easy to say that digital content is not a good thing, especially for a developing child. I myself once believed this. But now I think this is overly simplistic. If you’re objecting to the new merely because it’s new, you become an old stick-in-the-mud like Socrates.
Just as there was a gap between oral and written cultures in the generation between Socrates and Plato, there’s a gap now between analog and digital cultures. All of us sit squarely between both analog and digital cultures. We were raised on TV and print books, but we also had computers and the internet. We see the allure of the digital culture but still remember what it was like to use public pay phones. We’re hybrids. Neither fully analog nor fully digital, we’re able to pause on the brink of this digital gap and look fondly back to phonebooks and pennies and other ephemera of an analog era. But now we turn toward the digital future, toward credit cards instead of cash and ebooks instead of print. The digital culture is upon us, and our children will be the heirs to a fully digital culture.
What will the future of education hold?
It’s more than simply taking old print metaphors and making them digital. The future of education isn’t about virtual blackboards or playing learning games as a kind of digital recess. I actually think we’re going to see more social elements in education. And let’s just accept the inevitable: social networks like Facebook and Twitter will be available for children at some point soon.
So why not, for example, encourage schools to post lesson plans and homework assignments to a child’s Facebook account? If children collaborate online about their homework assignment, so much the better. Most of what we do at work is collaborative. Why not encourage social education and make ebook widgets to enable this?
I recently got a chance to watch some college students studying for their finals. They came up with a new way of studying together by connecting over Skype and chat and sharing screenshots of the ebooks they were reading. What makes this interesting is that these weren’t students studying together in the same dorm room or library but around the globe—in Dubai, Singapore, London, and Seattle. They cobbled together this setup themselves, without any help or guidance from professors.
It’s important to worry about the future of education in a digital ebook-enabled world, especially if you have children, but I don’t think the future’s bleak. Instead, I think it’s full of possibility. When I put on my futurist’s hat, I see social connections everywhere inside
ebooks. But even with all these social features, I think you’ll be able to curl up with a familiar book and turn off all the naysayers and chitchatters in the margins of your book. You will always be able to turn off the popular highlights. You will always be able to unplug from the network and enjoy a book like you always did before, in a golden hour of sunshine with a great read.
Bookmark: Book Covers
There’s a mysterious man on the subway. He’s reading a book that you’ve read. There’s something roguish or attractive about him that you can see in his face and in the way he carries himself, even though he’s half hidden by the book he’s reading. You’re interested or maybe just tipsy enough to go over and talk to him. You casually point to that book he’s reading, the one you’ve read too. And you start a conversation.
It’s a scenario most of us have played out before, whether as the one approached or the one using the book as a pretext to get to know someone. Some of us have even met future husbands or wives this way.
The Spanish have a term for a chaperone who sometimes accompanies a couple on their first date: the chaperone is a dueño if it’s a man, a dueña if it’s a woman. The ebook revolution has killed the dueño of reading: the book cover. You’ll no longer be able to have Gabriel García Márquez or Jane Austen chaperone you through your first hesitant and shy conversation as you talk as strangers about books you are reading, hoping perhaps for more intimacy or a longer conversation to get to know one another better. That’s because book covers are already a casualty of the digital age.
Ebooks make a token concession to book covers in two ways. The first is by letting you see the cover on the web page where the ebooks are sold. The second is by often including the cover within the ebook itself. (However, some e-readers like Kindle skip right past the cover and go straight to where the book starts at chapter one.)
The demise of the book cover is a sad one, especially when you consider that many covers are works of art, as well as historical artifacts. Just consider the wild colors and bold lines of 1920s Russian book covers by Alexander Rodchenko, the lurid romance covers of the 1980s that featured Fabio, or even the way any book cover would fade to muted shades of blue if the book was out in the sun for too long in a storefront window. That’s all gone now.
But you also have to consider that artistic book covers as we now know them are recent innovations. They’ve only been around for a hundred years. Before then, if a book had a cover at all, it was simply functional and undecorated, made to protect the book from excess wear and tear. At best, the covers would be gilt and hand-tooled from leather. They were symbolic encrustations of wealth rather than functions of advertising.
With digital books, though, you won’t be able to catch a glimpse of the book that the airplane passenger sitting next to you is reading, so you won’t be able to strike up a conversation quite as quickly. There’s hope, though. I saw a recent tech innovation that lets you slip an iPhone into a special eInk sleeve so you can see images on both sides, and I thought it would be an amazing opportunity to show off book covers again, to beam the cover of the book you’re reading onto the face of the device for everyone to see. And perhaps it won’t be long before future tablets have glass screens on both sides that let you do the same thing. Maybe e-readers will start to show the book covers as screensavers. But there’s a silver lining to the loss of book covers: the actual text of the book itself will come more to the forefront.
I can see a time when people will browse for books based on the content of the book, not the cover. Retailers will rank books for you based on the interior text. They’ll automatically assess what a book’s about and present the information to you when you need to make a purchasing decision. The loss of covers means that when you think back to an ebook you enjoyed, you’ll perhaps recall more of the content of the book than the cover. You’ll solidify more of the book’s meaning in your mind rather than conjure up an image of the cover (which, by the way, is often created by a graphic designer who has never even read the book).
Still, for me at least, it’s devastating how ebook covers are an appendix-like afterthought, tacked into books but rarely seen. At best, you see book covers on your e-reader’s virtual bookshelf, but they’re micro-sized and just a couple of pixels wide. I hate to say it, but I don’t want to see book covers disappear! I’m almost tempted to wallpaper the inside of my home with book covers so I can be reminded of all my former books, all of them as familiar to me as friends. Because somehow, whenever I see a book with my mind’s eye, I don’t recall the text inside or abstract ideas it may have contained, but I do see the cover. For me, in a very real way, the cover is the book.
Am I alone in my appreciation of book covers? Let me know what you think about them, for good or for bad. And let me know what your favorite book cover is or any ideas you have for salvaging book covers in the digital age!
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Libraries
Take a walk, if you will, through a university library, through one of the areas where nobody ever goes, like the section on 1870s foreign literature. Northwestern University outside of Chicago has a great library, and if you peruse its desolate dusty sections, you’ll chance upon tomes from the era when books were bound with intricate marbled covers, a book-binding tradition that sadly is in decline. If you’re lucky enough to find such a marbled book, you’ll perhaps marvel at all its whorls and frothy bubbles, at all the inky emulsions! And the smells, the deliciously antique smell of old books, so musty, so brittle, so familiar but so sad.
A Kindle or iPad will never smell quite so lovely in its decline. If anything, it will smell of polyethylene and be frazzled like an overheated hair dryer. If it’s white, it will take on the vaguely urine-colored tint that all old plastic gets when it ages.
But no e-reader will last as long as any book you’ll find in a library. Kobos and Nooks and other devices will be relegated to sock drawers and trash bins, or lost in the garage sales and swap meets of techno-commodity fetishism. Devices like the Kindle have a lot of sales appeal, but only for a limited lifespan.
While the Kindle1 had such great demand in 2007 that it sold out in five hours and sold on eBay for 400 percent of the original price, it’s doubtful that you could sell a Kindle1 today. There’s always a later and greater device on the market. Companies who manufacture consumer products know this and design with this technical obsolescence in mind. As they’re manufacturing the device that will hit the shelves tomorrow, they’re already at work on its replacement.
While the reading hardware may age, the ebook content—being digital—is eternal. And likewise, because it’s digital, it’s possible to have a near-infinite number of copies of a given digital book. Perversely, though, your local library is only likely to have a handful of copies of a given digital book. Why is this?
Libraries have a fixed budget every year for what books they can purchase. So whether a given library wants to buy a print or a digital copy of a book, it’s still going to have to pay for that book. That means that if you’re late returning an ebook, you may still have to pay late fees (or, more humanely, the ebook will simply turn itself off and return to the library for another patron to use, even if you weren’t finished reading it). This is because only a fixed number of patrons at a time can borrow the ebook from a library.
So even though digital inventory is infinite—even though all the patrons of the library could, in theory, download the same copy of the ebook at the same time, licensing terms will prohibit that from happening. Yes, you’ll still have to reserve a digital ebook, just as you do a print book. The real benefit is that you’ll be able to check out and download your library ebooks from anywhere. You’re not going to need to go to a library to do that.
Libraries are always budget-constrained, and you’re going to start seeing less and less shelf space dedicated to print books, because they’re costly to maintain, rebind, stack, and insure. In an effo
rt to save space and preserve shrinking resources, libraries will trend toward becoming miniature clouds of their own, collections of hard drives with all these ebooks on them. Perhaps the librarians themselves will become digital avatars of their former selves too, giving you online advice on which ebooks to read or which electronic encyclopedias and resources to use.
What will it mean as we lose this personal touch? Will we want to seek advice from an algorithm? Will we appreciate it if librarians are outsourced to a call center in the Philippines and there’s no personal touch? No. I think we’ll come to regret this loss. Whenever I visit my favorite library at the University of New Mexico, I find the librarians eager to help and anxious to please. I like the personal touch, the care they provide, and I believe we should work to embrace and preserve their crucial role as gatekeepers and conveyors of information.
I’m somewhat skeptical of the idea of digital librarians or digital libraries. Perhaps it’s because some of the best years of my life were spent in libraries, surrounded by books. I really do love print books. I spent a lot of my childhood at the county library every Saturday, and I learned more from the MIT library than I ever did from my professors. I was so open in my reading attitudes that I would devour everything. Fiction, math books, history—it was all tasty. To this day, I still spend hours walking through the racks of libraries, poking through their basement stacks, and looking for interesting or esoteric tomes. Libraries offer a sense of discovery like no other.
Still, I was thrilled when my local library finally figured out how to offer ebooks to patrons. That night, I maxed out my library card and downloaded twenty books. The selection might still be small—only a few tens of thousands of ebooks—but I found abundant reading material. I ordered a pizza, stayed in, and read all night long—sheer bliss! And I love the convenience of being able to beam the books directly to my Kindle, instead of lugging them back from my local branch in the back of my pickup truck.
Burning the Page: The eBook revolution and the future of reading Page 18