[Editor's note: Lethargy equals no reading. No reading equals no writing. No writing equals no posting. This somewhat fits into the theme of this post.]
I just finished Sven Birkerts’ book The Gutenberg Elegies: The Fate of Reading in an Electronic Age. I thought, when I got it from the Toronto Library that it was some scholarly book of essays about media, print and digital. What I got was a book of personal/critical essays about the writer’s love of books and fear of the coming electronic devastation.
The first third of the book really hooked me. I found the rest of the book consisted of the common analysis of media, a confrontation between Enlightenment values and postmodernism, and sprinkles of Understanding Media. My favourite essay was from the beginning: “the Paper Chase: An Autobiographical Fragment”. It involved the development of the author’s bibliophilia. Much of it mirrors my own experience, the discovery of used bookstores, the addictive desire to own too much, his poverty in favour of his books.
I read, made futile notes toward ambitious writing projects, waited for the spark that would carry me from planning into actual production…I woke up one day and found that my way of living had become intolerable. I couldn’t think, couldn’t write; everything felt sluggish. Night after night I sat at my improvised desk. Instead of trying to work, I nursed my anguish. I scribbled desperate pages and tore them up.
No one knows, but I’ve felt exactly like this for months. The author saves himself by just continuing to be busy. I think that lethargy is the biggest problem. But that for another discussion. He comes to the same conclusion as I have: he cannot possible write fiction, so becomes and essayist. I have been wanting to make a study of the literary essay for a while–I seem to remember a time of reading Seneca, Montaigne and Borges with relish.
Back to the book, the conclusion struck me.
I saw what it could be like, our toil and misery replaced by a vivid, pleasant dream. Fingers tap keys, oceans of fact and sensation get downloaded, are dissolved through the nervous system. Bottomless wells of data are accessed and manipulated, everything flowing at circuit speed….From deep in the heart I hear the voice that says, “Refuse it.”
This line, that computers et. al. are eradicating our Enlightenment values, and we must stem the tide of apathy towards the hallowed book, is getting very old.
I myself have a huge love affair with the book. I find myself stuck between the two, books and computers. My love for a good hardcover equals my love for the image of monks copying on sheepskin, as well as the idea of information and debate reaching all places.
Birkerts laments the loss of our private, individual life, mostly lived in books. I am sorry, but, despite what people have a tendency to say, writing is an essentially social product. Author’s often go on, saying “I only write for myself, not for the reader,” which is the biggest untruth told by writers. Writer’s need an audience, or they could continue to write and not publish. Publishing, dissemination is a public act, and it invited dialogue. What interests me is this dissemination, the movement and effects of books, not simply their existence.
Books will always exist, just like movies have not killed theater, and people still go to concerts, and they still debate in person. Media shifts do not kill older media. What they do do is shift thought. Perhaps the essay–short, concise, intimate–will take over from the rolling 19th century novel. At the same time, the short story should also make a return, as large complex novels become less likely to be published. And, perhaps real-world publishing will be a secondary characteristic, compilations of Internet postings (although, judging by the quality of blogs and blogs-turned-books, we have a long way to go).
Every advance has its dangers and benefits. The danger is that the speed of the Internet tends to affect the quality of our prose. God knows that this post exhibits that fact.
