At the health club, I got around to actually reading the Newsweek piece. Maybe it was just the gym-generated adrenaline, but I was jazzed. All those thousands of book titles at my fingertips. A more environmentally-friendly way of distributing the written word. A design that recalls the shape and feel of a paperback, giving the gizmo an instant retro twinkle before it even catches on. Talk about preemptive strike!
But then, when I was back on the shopping trail, I got to thinking about the appeal of good old fashioned books. My holiday gift list includes at least a dozen books for mom, dad, brother Ramone and the like. I bet only a quarter of those books will actually be read. The others will just stand handsomely on a shelf. And that doesn't bother me, because displaying a book is part of the pleasure of owning a book. The trophy book. We all have'em. An ad buddy has a whole army of terribly hip and just plain terrible marketing books lined up in his office, supposedly read and digested but frankly not looking very dog-eared.
After a laudable launch, can Kindle overcome the decidedly non-digital joys of buying a real book?