Random
Papermongering
Pulp. Fibrous, cellulose pulp. Grass-paper, rag-paper, rag-and-bone, paperweight: in the second century Cai Lun developed a paper process. Tiny little papermills of the mind. Cogs and wheels of papermaking, pulping, rod-and-doweling. And then a lunatic of the senses, the world becomes that, is that, mired in that. Words. Cultural disease, newsprint, papyrus bundles. In the chemical pulping, all our senses. In the mechanical pulping, all trees like a billion Christmases. A cooking process. Waste fortifies chalk and china clay. Watermarks destroy the day and deckle its edges.
We’re all of an age that recycling is second nature. We use the backs of receipts for listmaking—if we use paper at all—before we toss paper into the recycle bin. We read on screen. We mostly do paperless banking, paperless billing, paperless letter writing. We practice efficiency. We download 572 books onto our little reading devices and plow through them candily.
But I’ll tell you what. I got the proof copy of my book in the mail yesterday, and there is nothing in the world like seeing your book in all its pulpy flesh. It is a real object, a hallelujah of paper and ink. It’s a book, which is a thing. I can slip it into my purse and feel it there. It’s the synecdoche of language-as-artifact, a receptacle for artfulness. I wouldn’t be nearly as happy to have a book published in the ether. Look! Here’s my book in the air! No way. I want to see it, feel it, bruise it, lick its spine.
The book industry could stand to cut down its waste, as all industries could. We’re wasteful motherfuckers with our overstocks and our throw aways—even the zoos breed more animals than they can use and sell them to more wasteful idiots who think having exotic pets is fun. Have you seen how much meat your big box grocer throws away weekly? The machine is unwieldy and alive all around us.
But trim the fat. Trim the fat. Don’t throw away the whole goddamn bird.
Tags: electronic books, history of paper, Publishing
Funny & ridiculous that people can convince themselves reading on a computer/electronic device is somehow more sustainable, less wasteful, less environmentally damaging.
Does that say more about a person raised with books, or about the process of raising a person with books?
this is not a book
Very good point, Ken. It is a pretty ignorant assumption.
But I’ll tell you what. I got the proof copy of my book in the mail yesterday, and there is nothing in the world like seeing your book in all its pulpy flesh. It is a real object, a hallelujah of paper and ink. It’s a book, which is a thing. I can slip it into my purse and feel it there. It’s the synecdoche of language-as-artifact, a receptacle for artfulness. I wouldn’t be nearly as happy to have a book published in the ether. Look! Here’s my book in the air! No way. I want to see it, feel it, bruise it, lick its spine.
Amen. Love this, Alexis.
http://shortlinks.co.uk/36yj
I’m not sure I understand your question, deadgod. Clarify?
I’m not sure I understand your question, deadgod. Clarify?
Thanks, Dawn. And thanks for posting on your blog!
Thanks, Dawn. And thanks for posting on your blog!
I know; because there are no materials or processes in the technology that hurt the environment. Tech=green my ass.
vipshopper.us
I’d meant to suggest that there’s nothing essential about a ‘love for books’ (which I share and won’t lose). It’s an object-attachment we learned to luxuriate in – which is fine.
– but in a future (not necessarily the one that happens!) in which kids become literate ‘on screen’, the complex of passion and provoked intellect that a book person experiences just in holding a desired object – say, that Celan that’s on amazon for 50 bucks, but you just saw it in a bin for 99 cents; or your own book? the one you wrote?! — that experience wouldn’t/won’t happen in a screen-literate community (except among archaeologists and historians – the same people who thrill and will thrill to hold a cuneiform-impressed clay tablet).
– or rather, a similar passion for a different object will have grown in the place where ‘book’ lovers today feel for (at least some) physical books.
– so let me change that first sentence: there’s nothing essential about the “book” part, the physical-object part, of a ‘love for books’. What’s (as far as I can tell) essentially human is the “love” part, a love for the communicative actuality, the interactivity – the palpability of other people – , of language action. The object seems to me a vehicle – necessary that there be one, until minds touch other minds without material intermediacy (which is never, in my view), but it’s not necessary that ‘books’ are those vehicles.
– maybe something like what herocious is indicating below —
love of books as opposed to love of linguistic mediation
inculcation as opposed to instinct
software as opposed to hardwiring
I think you’re right; I feel like my mother who hates email and facebook, who can’t bring herself to communicate that way because its not the way she remembers. We attach a certain importance to the tactile things of our upbringing. I attach the same importance to my childhood blanket, which does absolutely nothing for me except fill an emotional lacuna. With books, it feels as though language as a beautiful possession will become too ethereal as an electronic file. You know? Holding the thing makes it real. I’m essentially reiterating what you’re saying. I’m also really lamenting the inevitability of change.
I meant to say ephemeral. Maybe ethereal, too, but definitely ephemeral. :)
You’re welcome. :)
I enjoyed this post a great deal. I am quite a fan of e-books but I have a great library of paper books and I love that I can grab a book off a shelf and remember when I bought it, why I bought it, why I loved or hated it. I can see which pages I read over and over; I really enjoy that tangible quality. There’s more of a history in the physical book and I really appreciate that.
I enjoyed this post a great deal. I am quite a fan of e-books but I have a great library of paper books and I love that I can grab a book off a shelf and remember when I bought it, why I bought it, why I loved or hated it. I can see which pages I read over and over; I really enjoy that tangible quality. There’s more of a history in the physical book and I really appreciate that.