Campaign to Save the Book...Thong?

Alternet recently included an article titled "Will Digital Books Replace Paper and Ink?"

While it was nice to see, the article itself wasn't nearly so interesting to me as the comments. Alternet readers are a diverse bunch, and commenters...well. It requires a fairly sensitive sarcasm meter and a love of the absurd--or a strong streak of intellectual masochism--to sort through the chaff of a particularly lively discussion.

Being rather passionately interested in knowing what people think of e-books, I (gasp!) braved the comment section. The expected intelligent remarks about e-reader cost and DRM cropped up, and the undeniable sensory factor, i.e., people like the way hardcopy books feel. (And smell. Giles, anyone?) As did the anticipated "when civilization collapses..." observation. Less expected, to me, were "but what will I do with all my bookmarks?" and a welcome rare query about library lending in a world of e-. (You know I had something to say about that!)

On the pro-electronic side, someone pointed out an advantage I blush to admit had never occurred to me: that a borrowed/circulating copy e-book, unlike its hardcopy equivalent, is always new. Free from underlines and coffee stains, without torn or dogeared pages, etc.

And one poster offered, following from a remark about library catalogues being largely digitized already:

The entire Library of Congress is estimated at 10 terabytes, which is $3000 worth of terabyte hard drives at Costco today.

Which makes me lust after much more storage than is currently practical in my life, because, oh! I want a whole digital library! How many terabytes would it take to download all of Fictionwise?

But I will admit the bookmark-lover had a point. I've begun to replace worn-out paperbacks with electronic copies (P.G. Hodgell most recently). And I intend to continue doing this. It might some day be possible for me to see the top of my desk, my dresser, the hall table! There's no way all my hardcopies could be replaced, but I imagine, in some dim distant future, culling the collection until it actually fits in my multitude of bookshelves.

And any spare bookmarks, book thongs, book "earrings," and the like? Maybe I'll pin them to my wall. Or donate them to a museum. Or hang them on a Solstice Tree. Hmm. Most innovative alternative uses for no-longer-needed page-markers?

I smell a contest...

pxj