A Feel-Good Book

I’m currently reading Bill Bryson’s “At Home: A Short History of Private Life,” which I discovered in the Lambert-St. Louis International Airport. It’s a meaty volume of almost 450 pages, a bright red cover, and a topic that I should not have been able to resist: an author journeys about his house from room to room to write a history of the world without leaving home. But I did resist because I was on my way to Orlando with my IPad tucked into my computer bag, four books downloaded on my Kindle app and ready for travel. This was a first. I’m not a light packer when it comes to books. I always take one that I’ve just started in my carry-on, and then pack another in my checked luggage just in case I finish the first. Depending on the length of the trip, I might add a third. I get panicky if I don’t have something to read.

I was resolute in the airport bookstore, however, and determined to stick to the IPad Kindle plan so I set Mr. Bryson’s tome back in its place. Unfortunately, I mourned that decision for the remainder of my vacation. After arriving in Orlando, we were trapped in Disneyworld, where there are no bookstores or shops that carry anything other than Disney-licensed merchandise. Mr. Bryson’s book does not fall into that category. I was stuck with my e-books, which by the way cannot be accessed on an airplane during take-off or landing (my favorite time to read while flying). Our condo had a luxurious tub, but taking an IPad into a bubble bath is asking for trouble. And if the battery on the e-reader gets low, you must hook yourself near an outlet or computer to charge it up. These are not deal breakers for me. I still love my IPad and don’t regret for a moment that I gave in to its seduction, but there is this thing I have with books. Real books. Yes, it is a tactile. I like to hold it, breathe in the ink aroma, and occasionally run my fingers across the page opposite of the one I am reading. But it’s also the history I have with books. Since childhood, I’ve loved to collect them, go back and read passages in some, arrange their spines on my bookshelves, loan them out to friends, pass them down to my children.

They say that the bookstores are in financial trouble and publishing houses are also feeling the pinch of decreased book sales because many of us are allured by the idea of downloading volumes on our e-readers in seconds. It’s cheaper and more convenient, and isn’t that what we want? Yes, most of the time. But sometimes, nothing will do but a real book. So I bought Mr. Bryson’s latest the day after our plane touched down back in Tulsa. And I went to a bookstore, bypassing the Amazon option. I’m on page 23, which means I have lots of book left to enjoy on the next flight, in the bathtub, on the back patio. And it feels good.