About the last post, I should mention that it was all dead-tree reading. Ownership of an e-book reader has so far eluded me, or perhaps I have eluded it. Or both. At any rate, I am still accustomed to squinting at paper pages by lamplight, which is now either a really uncool way to read or the ultimate in intellicool, like listening to vinyl or watching celluloid and acetate movies.
On that score I’m middle-of-the-road. I would like to possess a Kindle or iPad at some point, but so far other matters are more pressing and I do not feel that my life is suffering for lack of a digital library. On the other hand, I have to admit that those devices are definitely cool-looking, and as an admirer of cool-looking stuff I’m not above putting on airs, so to speak. In fact, I spent a great deal of 2011 pretending to own and operate an e-reader.
Let me explain. Last Christmas my wife gave me something called a Lightwedge, which is basically a clear plastic rectangle with light-transmitting properties. One of its edges is attached to a battery-powered, cool-blue LED source, and when you press it over a book page and switch it on, it becomes the perfect reading light. This was truly a well-considered gift, since most if not all of my reading happens late at night and, more importantly, either in bed next to my sleeping wife or on the couch at the feet of my sleeping wife.
But even more importantly, the Lightwedge is cool-looking. When it illuminates a page it almost resembles an electronic reading device—perhaps an ultra-slim Nook or Kindle, maybe? If you ignore the fact that it’s sitting on top of a stack of paper pages? And if you read out of the corner or bottom edge of your eye? Feel free to agree with me any time.
Anyway, this nifty piece of technology, purchased for a fraction of the cost of a Kindle by a woman who is a thousand lumens more beautiful than any sparkling machine, was one of the principal factors, if not the primary force, in my voluminous reading year. I see it clearly now—I see it as a gift of love, an expression of love. “A passion for reading,” the gift tells me, “is like passion for another person. It burns brighter than even the most coveted gadget and makes them all obsolete.”
So I give thanks to She Who Kindles Me. I will kindle her back all the years of my life.