There has been much discussion across the internet about Amazon's new e-book reader, The Kindle--particularly because of the vast amount of air time and other PR the company has generated. Color me luddite, but I just can't see myself ever making e-books a part of my reading lifestyle. Don't get me wrong, I think that e-books are exceptionally convenient. They travel well and tend not to weigh down your laptop bag. As we move more and more into a connected, streaming digital age, I have no doubt that many people will turn to the e-book format, particularly if such files contain hypertext and the ability to connect with other readers while you are in the process of reading a book.

But isn't reading as a solitary act sort of the point. Books are where I have gone traditionally to take a step back from my own environment and lose myself. There is something about opening up the pages of a book and communing with the author's work which is both recreational and refreshing. You can unplug, unwind, and let the rhythm of each word and sentence carry you beyond the walls of life as you experience it.

Don't get me wrong, I love the visceral, sensual experience of reading: the delicious crackle of an opened binding; the smell of ink and paper, whether freshly imprinted or redolent with must and the rich scent of age; the texture of each leaf or page beneath the fingertips; the way that a single page raises itself almost perpendicular to the binding, balancing ever so slightly, moved by currents of air or the slight trembling of our hands as we open the book.

But, surprisingly, the elimination of these tangible moments is not my main objection to virtual books (although I must confess to being quite loathe to do without them). Rather, its that e-books and their likely virtual descendants will become disruptive technology. They will redefine the act of reading itself (and are, to a certain extent, doing so already), transforming it from a primarily personal (and private) experience to a wired, social networking event, where we are linked and streamed to death.

Are such possibilities for expanding the experience of reading beyond just me and the book intriguing? Absolutely. From a speculative viewpoint, I'm fascinated by the effects of virtual reading. What will classroom reading and discussion be like if conversations can happen beyond the bounds of the classroom and the time of the class? What if you can meet other readers who have highlighted the same favorite passages as you while you are reading that passage for the first time? In this sense, these "books" become four-dimensional, entry points into wider cultural, social, artistic, and intellectual discourse.

And, let's be honest, they'd also become even more intimate marketing vehicles for e-commerce, as well. I could be reading The Fellowship of the Ring and become fascinated with Frodo's sword, Sting. With a swipe of the mouse (or touch of the screen), I could be whisked away into a Wiki about The Lord of the Rings, with a detailed description of the sword and a link to purchase a replica of Sting--all while reading.

It's absolutely fascinating.

And I want nothing to do with it.

Who I am has been partially defined by long summer hikes to my local library and afternoons spent reading in a lonely corner of my parent's home. I would hate to think that experience would be closed to me as a child 50 years in the future. But I wonder if that's what my great-grandfather thought as cars began to replace buggies? Technology changes us. For good or for ill. We are caught in a fast-moving river of innovation and advancement. My children and grandchildren will be formed by other experiences that I never had (perhaps by these four-dimensional "books") because the landscape of living will be changed by the technological flow. I suppose that is what makes life exciting--it certainly fits the blueprint highlighted by the somewhat utopian scientific theology espoused by Gene Roddenberry in Star Trek.

I'm just not sure I'm looking forward to every advance. The question is, will virtual reading become a technology that I will be able to "opt out" of? Or will it become such a fundamental part of human culture that opting out means finding myself down a dead end branch of social evolution--like those older adults who still have no idea how to operate a computer?

I suppose only time will tell. Until then, I'm going to continue and sit down with a good old-fashioned book.

Hat Tip: SF Signal