I’ve Got Kindle Guilt

This is all very embarrassing, but I’ve had a severe change of heart in an area in which I have been somewhat vocal. I’ve paraded around, airing my views and very heartily (and indeed, publicly) pledging my allegiance to the printed page. But now, it seems, I must make an admission that the issue may be a little more nuanced than I thought. You see, I just read my first book on a Kindle.

It’s not entirely my fault. I found myself needing to read a book at high speed in advance of an  interview with the author for an upcoming piece. I didn’t have time to purchase a paper copy, so I nabbed my husband’s Kindle, got it for one pound (one pound!) and dug in. And you know what, I didn’t hate it. In fact, the ability to highlight and return to sections of text proved absolutely invaluable for my interview and would have been much more time consuming with a print copy.

It was meant to be a one-time-only thing. It had been an unavoidable solution and had worked out rather well. I wasn’t cheating on the printed page. But I couldn’t help myself. On the sly, I downloaded another book. There was no reasoning behind this one, no need for speed or note-taking, I just wasn’t ready to put the kindle down. I consumed a crime novel crammed full of cheap thrills and clichés, speeding through it like a mound of profiteroles.

I must mention at this point, any annoyance on my husband’s part at me having blatantly kidnapped his electronic reading device was entirely outweighed by the merits of me not needing to keep the bedside lamp on to read at night. You see, like many couples, we have differing nighttime habits. I like to read for a good half hour before bed and he likes to fiddle on his phone briefly and then go to sleep. So being able to read the gently glowing Paperwhite screen without a lamp on was somewhat revolutionary. Heck, the Kindle was even doing wonders for my marriage! It’s pull over me was almost magnetic.

I think you’ll agree, I needed to calm down. So, after my sugar rush of a poorly written crime thriller, I paused to take stock. It may have been down to the below average prose, but I didn’t feel the same satisfaction as I did when finishing a ‘real’ book. There’s no turning that final page, having a flick back through the well-thumbed pages, resting it on your chest and sitting back to contemplate. It’s a swipe and it’s over. Onto the next one. There’s no emotional connection.

This may have something to do with the way we read on a Kindle. You see, we’re so used to reading off screens these days that the way our brains take in text is changing. We’re losing the ability to ‘deep read’ which is that lovely feeling we get when we’re lost in a good, juicy novel. 

According to Maryanne Wolf, director of UCLA's Center for Dyslexia, Diverse Learners, and Social Justice - and the author of Reader, Come Home: The Reading Brain in the Digital World - reading printed text on a page slows our minds down, allowing us time for critical thinking processes that encourage empathy and perspective. When we read off a screen, we’re multitasking - jumping around, taking in different sections and skimming ahead in quicker pursuit of a resolution. 

And I must say, I did find this with the Kindle. I was constantly tempted to jump to the end of the page and found myself feeling quite competitive, constantly checking up on the ‘percentage read’ at the bottom and keen to swipe to get further on. I don’t feel like this when I read in print. I enjoy the journey. And I think that’s what I lost with the Kindle - the journey. 

There’s no tattered train ticket as a bookmark, no satisfying crease of the book’s spine as you approach and then pass the middle point, no creeping nostalgia as you survey the wafer thin chunk of paper that separates you from the end of the story.

I decided to persevere and after visiting the Stanley Kubrick exhibition at the Design Museum, I downloaded Stephen King’s The Shining. What better way to test my relationship with this divisive device than a classic horror!? 

So there I was, on the train platform with a good twenty minute tube ride ahead of me. I got out the Kindle, excited for a nice little session. But the battery had died. I was furious! Pre-Kindle, if I had seen someone standing on the train platform stabbing at the reset button on an electronic reading device I would have laughed smugly as I fished my paperback out of my tote bag and tucked in. That will never be me! I would have chuckled, removing my Twix wrapper bookmark. Yet here I am. Can you imagine if that had happened in advance of a 2-hour train ride, or, heaven forbid, a flight!? I’ll be honest, it shook me to my core. 

The printed page is reliable and sturdy and physical. It’s there in your hand. There’s no manual or charger. But, the Kindle does have qualities that physical books can never have. It allows reading in places and situations where it would otherwise be impossible.

So I’m doing the mature, grown up thing and admitting that the Kindle has its place. It’s brilliant for non fiction if you want to mark passages and make notes, and it’s great for an impulse buy - the feeling of being able to buy any book is definitely thrilling (but not as thrilling as the small when you walk into Waterstones). It’s great for a bedtime read if you’re trying not to disturb your partner or you’re on a dark plane. 

But for me, a lot of my reading is about relaxation. And if I’m lying back on the sofa with a bar of chocolate and my dog nestled between my shins, I want a wad of paper sealed neatly between two covers in my hands. I don’t want a screen anywhere near me. It’s a logical, adult conclusion (sorry) but my heart will always be with the printed page. 

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