There are a lot of books in my apartment. Probably upwards of 500. I have two, five-shelf, six-foot bookcases filled with books (the one in my living room is, in fact, now victim to stacks of books laid horizontally on front of the properly-shelved volumes). I have stacks of books on my desk, on my floor, on my coffee table, near my bed, on my nighstand. And then, adjacent to my kitchen, there are three more shelves – each six feet long or so – all flush with books.
Well. Strike that. There’s about two feet on the middle kitchen shelf that’s full of liquor bottles.
My love for reading is only secondary, really, to my love for books. It’s like a compulsion, the most nefarious bibliophilia, to constantly buy and squander all and every on acquiring more books. Realistically speaking, at a respectable pace of some fifty books per year, I have likely around eight years worth of reading accumulated in my apartment. And while my book buying habits have dropped off (as, frankly, my reading habits have also dropped off), so have my reading behaviors changed. I’ve been trying to avoid buying ‘pop’ books for some time, with the intent of ‘culling the herd’ a bit of its less cerebral and more useless qualities. Providing I can sweet-talk Amazon into re-instating my seller’s account, I’ll likely be pawning off as many books as possible.
And why, good reader, am I trying to thin out my books? (I mean, besides purging the more embarrassing items, I suppose?)
A Handsomely Dressed Kindle 2
Because I would like to purchase an Amazon Kindle. Well, a Kindle 2: it’s about 65% thinner than its predecessor, and has a more sleekly-designed case. It’s beautiful, or as beautiful as a device with a built-in QWERTY keyboard can be.
I can’t resign myself to spend $300 USD on an e-book reader, especially not one utilizing such a stringent DRM policy for books sold. (One need only scratch the surface of the internet (the Times does a reasonably good job reporting here) to find details on the recent news story about Amazon stealing back, in the middle of the night, customer’s purchased digital copies of 1984 – I ask, my friends, could there have been a better book to thieve?). I really prefer to own what I pay for: buying a book for ten dollars for what is, in the most general terms, a media rental makes me uneasy. And because there’s still a strong force of traditionalism coursing through my veins (I was the student always adament about completing paper applications, rather than electronic applications, for college) – I really don’t want to forego the physical aspect of reading.
All of this has ultimately lead to the mental creation of a binary, though not mutually-exclusive, system: there are readers, and then there are book-people. Of course, there are people who fall squarely into one category or the other: those who collect books for their bibliographic value, rather than the literary or intellectual content. And those who also read voraciously, but own few books – instead usually opting for libraries or other borrowing systems. But me? I straddle both. I’m that shaded, overlapping area in the Venn diagram of ‘book people.’ And please, hold me, because I don’t know where to turn.
Part of me can really see myself toting around an Kindle; it seems like the perfect covalescence of the technological lilt of my persona while mixing it with a classical information system (the book). I love the beauty and design of it. But I am also not sure how realistic I am about actual usage: I have shelves upon shelves of volumes that, were I interested in reading on the Kindle, would require re-purchasing in digital format (if they’re even available, another issue entirely). I love the feel of a book in my hands, the smell of the paper and ink, the noises the pages make and the heft of each volume. And I’m not quite sure if I’m ready to give that up, because there really is an emotional tie to this whole issue of e-reader versus dead-tree books.
The emotional entrenchment is what I think keeps most people reading paper books: there is an acute nostalgia to holding printed material. Books are (warning: sweeping generalization) the only technology that haven’t undergone any severe adjustments in the past five hundred years; their form hasn’t changed very much (save, maybe, not being able to buy the latest Jodi Picoult in half-caf Moroccan leather with gilt edges, but nothing’s perfect, yes?). Especially given the audience that a Kindle would appeal to (those for whom it would be, at the very least, something resembling a sound investment: $300 USD new, plus the cost of each book (although there are plenty of free titles, too!)) is likely to be that of a voracious reader. And those stodgy book-people, it should require no explanation how difficult a demographic they are to situate with new technology.
Kindle2's (Wonderful) Barcode
The only way I can rationalize owning a Kindle, then, is as a supplement to my own paper-book reading now. Ideally, if I’m to disappear to Europe for more than 4 weeks, I’d imagine having a Kindle is of the greatest importance (I say this entirely seriously; living abroad in Prague saw me leaving – and returning, having increased my collection some 35% – with a full suitcase dedicated solely to books). At the very least, one warrants purchase by Springtime 2010.
Of course, the price tag – $299 + titles – isn’t paltry, either, especially on a student budget of <$20 000/year. So I’ve set up something of a strategy to afford one. My objective is to purchase a refurbished Amazon Kindle2 – they typically retail for 25% – 33% less than Amazon’s ‘new’ price - and a carrying case (another $30 USD), and a protective decal ($15 USD), plus a handful of titles. So, let’s say, in sum, I’m looking at spending $325 USD for the whole megillah.
Along with this, I’ve told myself that I will be spending, out-of-pocket, no more than 25% of the cost of the whole package. To carry myself over on the rest of the cost, I will be doing a few different things, all of which reek of scams – but I think are well-worth it, given the cost of the item.
- SwagBucks. This is basically a site that runs codes, its own search engine, games, and shopping. With each activity, one earns ‘SwagBucks,’ which may be traded-in for other things. Amazon.com electronic gift cards are available for $5 USD per 45 SwagBucks. I’ve been earning between 5-7 each day, and after about two weeks of casual use have enough for $10 USD to Amazon. It’s not much, but every little bit counts.
- Change Jar. I took an empty plastic jar. And whenever I use cash (which I’m trying to do more frequently), I drop whatever change I have – including $1 USD bills – into the jar. I’ll cash this out at a CoinStar location, because they don’t take any ‘cut’ of the money if you use it on Amazon.com gift cards. If that doesn’t work, I’ll just do it the old fashioned way and wrap-and-roll my change, cash it in at the bank, and ear-mark it for use.
- Surveyhead. Another online program; they administer 10-15 minute surveys based upon targeted demographics. I’ve earned, already, about $28 USD in the past three weeks, all of which will be converted into Amazon.com gift cards over the next week or so.
- Misc. Windfalls. Any random money I come across, I’ll be taking a chunk and devoting it to The Kindle Project (TM).
It’s been a long time since I’ve actually saved-up for something. Usually my money is dumped, in mass, into whatever large item I’m coveting at a given time. But unlike, say, a netbook (portability and classwork), single-speed/fixie (transportation), or XBox 360 (replaced my cable television) … I can’t, in any sense, rationalize the purchase of an e-reader, short of it’s “Wow, that’s awesome/cool/beautiful/technologically advanced!”. Which means it is now firmly rooted in pragmatic savings, with the intention being to avoid out-of-pocket cost as much as possible.
Eagerly Awaiting the Lover's Footste...er, Kindle.
As a final note, I can’t help but to be profoundly jealous of the unadulterated joy that other Kindle users seem to express. All of the users (I mean that both as in, ‘owners,’ and those who are addicted to books, &c.) express a sheer pleasure at their device, which I am struggling myself to understand. The Customer-Submitted images on the Amazon.com Kindle page are almost testament enough; the ‘Kindle People’ are like the weird subcultre of Roomba fans who knit Roomba cozies and name the little iRobot creatures.There are a lot of personally-made and designed Kindle cases, suffice to say. And I really want that, because I buy – no pun intended – entirely into the idea of being happy, literally content and satisfied – with the acquisition of some material things. And while I’m not one for out-and-out conspicuous consumerism, there really is a lot to be said for living well, taking pleasure, and enjoying what one has.
I can’t wait to leave a sign like this on the door of my apartment. The affable African American UPS deliveryman, who calls me ‘Goddess’ and ‘beautiful’ (True story: whenever I yell, “Just a moment!” before answering the door, he always responds “Goddess, were you yellin’ for me to come in, goddess?”) will be the one to bring me my small, white, virginal electronic book. And I think it’s something I will take grand, pure pleasure in.
