It’s Us Against Them

Are we already teetering on the cusp of another ambiguously disguised platform for literature? I sit across from a snooty stubby-fingered individual aimlessly jabbing at a tablet with an uncanny austerity unbeknown – or, moreover, defiantly unappreciated – to an avid, book-loving reader like I. Of course, the hollow tablet leers back at me, as if to reinstate “I’ve been here for a while, move along chump” but yet I peg back, burning with animosity: “have you really, King Kindle, the Soul Collector?”. It’s safe to declare a duo of assumptions; whilst books undoubtedly retain a die-hard following, 1) conveniently organised user-friendly outlets, like a Kindle, have grown in pompous popularity (particularly, in my ever humble opinion, amongst lazy loveless readers unsure of real reading investment and 2) my sanity could be called into question – not for the first time, sadly – after verbally abusing and ironically personifying a technological instrument. Safe to say, old Stubby Fingers was suitably unimpressed.

My point of view appears as such: are we creating a breed of readers who are indirectly resenting the consummation of information? Upon brooding over classroom discussions concerning book production vs tablet convenience, I can’t help but feel we’re missing the point. Isn’t reading reliant on tonal gestures and the state of mind we appear before writing with? Won’t we feel more invested in writing that has been manufactured, produced and cared for over considered time? Isn’t the arduous, spiritual process of writing nurtured and so to our reception echo such sentiment? I will never deny that acquiring instant information is a necessity in our fast moving, mass media driven society. What I will deny – no, what I will scream at sucking tablet software – is how the integrity of understanding, receiving and immersing ourselves in published work has diminished to robotic processing and, quite frankly, a lack of fun. As delivered, in validation, by Stubby Fingers.

Are you pleased with merely accepting wordfood, or do you accentuate my beliefs that reading should always be treated via philosophical guidelines of emotional enhancement?

P.s I apologised profusely afterwards. Not to Stubby Fingers, no… to the unknowing Kindle. This one had colour, you see. Ooh, diverse.


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