It is a day I have dreaded, and it is here. “At Drexel University's new Library Learning Terrace, which opened just last month, there is nary a bound volume, just rows of computers and plenty of seating, offering access to the Philadelphia University's 170 million electronic items.”I have not dreaded it because I am a luddite or I am anti-technology. Far from it. Anyone who knows me knows how I embrace the latest in gadgetry. The problem is with technology in the hands of people who have no idea of its limitations who are simply overwhelmed by the slick and shine. (I appreciate what an iPhone does and hugely admire its engineering and design -- my son has it, but I do not own one because I have no use for it.)
I am not mushy and sentimental about the smell of books and its tactile qualities. Those can be easily replaced with an odourant spray. I object to the devaluation of the serendipitous nature of knowledge and the glorious moment when it reveals itself to you from the most unlikely places; from books.
How does one use Google, for instance. Google is a great tool to look for stuff if you know what you are looking for. Same with Amazon. Knowledge and wisdom are far more omnipresent and subtle. We (or, at least, I) absorb through a process almost akin to osmosis -- from the surroundings, from books; in moments of lucidity and semi-consciousness.
I will not be surprised if one of the local universities decide to embark on a similar project. It would look cool, certainly and, besides, the largest roti canai in the world has already been made and eaten. I suppose, one could seek solace in the fact that, at least, they will no longer be throwing out precious hundred-year-old collections because no one is checking them out as frequently as Da Vinci Code (a major literary canon, no doubt). But then, there is always the delete key.
Qin Shih Huang, roll over in your grave and eat your heart out. Here comes a new generation of book burners.
TIME
