Paper Over Pixels

De-tech-ifying my reading experience

Buying my first kindle felt like a eureka moment. For years of travelling in my teens and twenties, I always had a minimum of two books stuffed in my pack, easily adding an extra 20% to the load on my shoulders. Suddenly, a little device that almost fits in your pocket could store thousands of books at the tap of a finger. Paired with what I only know as “etch-a-sketch” technology, it felt like it was making reading more accessible to the masses and a perfect way to use technology with less “retina burning” involved.

I loved my kindle. The battery would hold its charge for an entire two week trip. With its little back light, you could read at night in hostels without trying to find the red light setting on your headlamp. You could even highlight sections to be exported to the cloud to recall later. It’s a non-fiction reader’s dream.

On a recent trip to Indonesia, I found myself arriving for a week-long boat trip realizing I had left my kindle cozily tucked into the seat pocket of the plane. I was pissed to say the least. I had mentally prepared for this boat trip to be the perfect time to lose myself in another literary world. I was scrambling to find an alternative.

Thankfully, the dive shop that was organizing our boat had a bookshelf with maybe 15 different books of which about half were in English. As I was crouching in the musty attic, I felt like I was being transported back to a different time in life. I’ve spent countless hours in countless countries rifling through aisles and shelves filled with dusty books, trying to find my next reading project. It felt like a ritual I had long forgotten. A ritual that was once again forced upon me from a moment of inattention.

I hadn’t even chosen my book, but at that moment, I felt a deep sense of nostalgia and longing for a slower, more intentional time in my life.

I grabbed a torn up copy of Girl on the Train, stuffed it in my bag, and carried my new companion with me for the next week.

Returning to the world of physical books stirred something in me. I was having trouble grasping why reading a physical book gave me this more significant sense of fulfillment. I always scoffed at the people that preferred to read physical books. We have access to this new technology that feels like an objectively better reading experience, at least on paper. Why aren’t we all taking advantage of this?

But, as it turns out, tapping isn’t turning.

A page turn has weight, sound, and intention behind it. Book covers let strangers get a glimpse into what world you’re living in and an opportunity to connect and share ideas.

Though the Kindle has enumerable benefits that make it an obvious choice for reading in most cases, I think it’s a product of over-optimization. It’s improving things that weren’t necessarily problems before. And just because it’s more convenient, efficient, and productive, doesn’t necessarily mean it’s better.

At some point, endless access becomes overload. Our brains aren’t designed to choose from a library of millions of books in seconds. On my Kindle, I often found myself with 3-5 different books on the go, sometimes switching books in the same sitting depending on my mood.

Though reading on a Kindle is still objectively better than scrolling on social media, it still makes you feel like a product of yet another algorithm. Being targeted on what books I should read next or convincing me to get my next book free if I sign up to Amazon Unlimited. Suddenly, what I’m reading has become predictive and ranked.

It’s exhausting. And it’s taken the spirit and joy out of reading.

There’s a magic and serendipity you get when your book selection is limited to whatever that one used bookstore carries in whatever town you’re in.

Maybe it’s just a way to justify leaving my Kindle on a plane. But maybe it’s something more. Maybe we don’t need one more optimized system. Maybe we just need to wander into a dusty corner and see what the real life algorithm has in store for us.