Last Wednesday night, I spoke about my … well, I’d say ‘nerves’ about the digital age of books. I wondered aloud about what might happen to our bookshops and libraries; how they might be affected; on a business level, certainly, but my concern was on a cultural, even personal, level. For me, nothing compares to the squirmy, deep sense of pleasure I get when I enter such places. A member of the audience (and forgive me, I forget who it was) took my point further and wondered: would our children be inheriting these places that are stripped down because our books will be less of a physical presence, and stripped back of any atmosphere. Who would want to go to such places, and what would this do – exactly – to our sense of community?
And believe me when you hear me champion good ol’ books I am doing so while seeing the validity, the worth, of digital books. So I am in a bit of a tricky situation, and please be aware that I am aware this post has been written with a dash of irony; that while I love real books, most of ours remain in storage; that their physicality is at the moment is less than an ideal than a problem that needs to be fixed somehow. If we could bring them all inside, we would. But we can’t.
Here’s just an example of my treasures. Because Melbourne had another great downpour last week, our books again were in danger in their cardboard boxes. Adam went to Bunnings to buy these plastic ones. There’s Anno Dracula, and I want Kim Newman to know that book got me through some tough times in high-school. There’s Peter Carey and Helen Garner who by no means deserve to languish in a garage, but needs be, I’m afraid.
Here are some of the other boxes, up high on a chest of drawers. Safe. We hope.
I even pulled out some of my old university course papers. How simple was life then, even in my Masters year, that I could circle the texts I wanted to do my major assignments on, and there, that decision was made*.
*My Masters degree was 50% coursework and 50% thesis.
And here are the lucky books this cycle, resurrected to be brought inside to serve their purpose. As you can see, it was pretty much Adam’s choice this time. Only the poems and Eon are mine.
