Print is Dead: Books in Our Digital Age

One of the most common themes that runs through the future of the book debate is, well, the idea of the book itself. Or rather, what a book is or should be. Most people consider a work like The Great Gatsby to be a book. After all, when someone says they love The Great Gatsby, chances are they’re talking about the book (I doubt they mean the film or the opera; I’ve seen both, and didn’t love either). And yet, what they’re really reacting to are Fitzgerald’s words and story, not the paper and glue of Scribner’s. Because of this, the real heart of Gatsby is in its amazing language and timeless theme, not the page. The spirit and magic of The Great Gatsby isn’t the book itself; the book is just a prop. Indeed, the page was just the first place we experienced Gatsby, so it has now become a physical beacon or marker for us to stare at and appreciate (not unlike the green light at the end of Daisy’s pier in the novel itself). And yet, when we talk, in the future of the book debate, about physical books going away people tend to think that, along with the paper and glue, we’re going to remove the stories and ideas as well. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. To compare this to music, it reminds of a syndrome I call “banditis.”

I would define “banditis” as being when all members of a band feel the need to all play on or contribute to a song (as if every song needs guitar, bass and drums). This tends to make all songs sound predictable; you end up waiting for the chorus and the guitar solo. The truth is, not all songs need a chorus — or even lyrics — not to mention guitar in the first place (let alone solos). In fact, my favorite record of the year so far is the recently released Heartcore by Wildbirds and Peacedrums (the video above is them performing the song “Doubt/Hope”). The “group” is made up of a young married couple from Sweden, and most often the songs consist of just the husband’s inventive drumming and the wife’s haunted and haunting vocals. Of course, if you were to describe this to most people they’d say, “Uh, just vocals and drums? Where’s the rest?” as if something were missing. People react this way because they’ve been conditioned to think of songs as being defined as something that has guitars, bass and drums (if not even more instruments, like piano, strings, and backup vocals). In fact, even when musicians appear with just an acoustic guitar it’s considered a bit of a novelty (remember MTV’s show Unplugged?). But, in my mind, the less adorned the music is, the more real and true it is. The same thing can happen with stories and ideas. The same way that a song can consist of just drums and vocals, a story can just be words on a screen. Songs can still be songs, even without guitars; and novels can still be novels, even without pages.