The main thing I don’t like about the Kindle is its lack of heirloom value. “Yes, daughter. This DRM’d edition of ‘Middlemarch’ has been in our family for months and months. Is its format now obsolete? Regardless, (cough cough – consumptive hack into my greening lace handerkerchief) pass it along to your children so long as THEIR e-reader is adjoined to your account. No, wait. It should be my account to have access to it. Can we merge our accounts? Oh, FUCK IT, just put my Kindle on the photocopier and print out the book for yourself.”
Okay, and its lack of color. And its lack of a touch screen.
Otherwise, and especially for books that are current and not likely to be read by my descendents, it’s been a boon.
The ability to highlight notes and save them as text files has saved me dozens and dozens of hours of typing highlighted paper pages. Aaah.
Marvelous battery life. High contrast, no backlighting. Weird feature allowing Twitter and Facebook sharing with a few thumb gestures (easy e-erudition!) to clog up Feeds of friends with “Here’s something someone else said.”
I read faster with a Kindle, and am fairly certain I retain as much (or as little) as with a regular book.
Online dictionary. A rudimentary web browser – using it is like examining the runty spawn of a tablet and an Etch-a-Sketch. Look at it, go “Hunh. Kinda surprised it works at all.” and find it unusable after two minutes.
And walking around with eBook versions of novels that are near and dear grant a sense of power. I could look up pet phrases and be able to cite them in, like 30-45 seconds! Shake-n-Bake pretension in less than a minute! Assuming the eBook version isn’t riddled with typography errors. They often are, which might lead to my pronouncing “Slouching towards Bethel men to be born.” to grave embarrassment, point lost, dash into the bathroom until the other denizens of the salon have ceased with their clucking at my expense, embark their carriages, and return to their estates.
Having a Kindle in my possession makes each step a stomp with tremors that make the hordes of cretins tremble. That’s how it feels. Truer effect: puts even more of a lilt in my step, making it anthropologically MORE likely I will be selected out for abuse. Do your worst, bullies. My kids’ll be the boss of your kids.
I find my eyes wandering to Katherine McPhee in a yellow dress in the post below. Yes, she’s a dolt and a few decades younger than me. Since it’s just us, I don’t mind confiding that. Don’t let the rest of the internet know that I have eyes, a sense of aesthetics, and am a primate with biological urges. Thanks!