Reflecting on yesterdays post about how we are possibility loosing printed news to the realms of digital space. I began to wonder to day if the same is beginning to happen to the beloved book. One of the writers I follow has a new book out this week and enquiring about it in a bookshop here I was told it would have to be ordered, ok. This I can deal with, but on visiting their website found the only readily available copy was an ebook. This is not the first occasion of this happening and I am beginning to wonder if the book will go the proposed way of some newspapers, existing only as a collection of one’s and zero’s. As much as technology is a necessary evil at times, there are some areas where it needs to be restrained and let things exist as they have for centuries. What is so wrong with holding a book and reading, feeling the crisp pages between your finger tips, excitement building trying to work out who the murderer is, did the hero get the girl in the end, did the villain get his comeuppance and does Cinderella get to the ball. The beauty of a handcrafted first edition, the woven book cloth encircling the precious contents, fingers exploring the valleys and grooves of the embossed lettering, the crack of the glue as you open it and the smell of the paper, fresh, clean and inviting. For me my life and its relationships can be mapped out through books, especially within my own collection, for each is the record of a specific moment or event in time, Chocolate (Joanne Harris) a gift from a friend on holidays, Bleed (Simon Norfolk) a christmas gift from my sister, Alice in Wonderland (Lewis Carol) on leaving a job, The Moderns (IMMA) a job well done, the list goes on. Each time I use or reference one of my books I am always reminded of the person who was kind enough to give it to me, and even when they have gone, a memory of them will continue. I do not believe the same can be said for a collection of one’s and zero’s. Long live the book.