On books vs. the stories within
My focus when partaking of an accumulated work of written word has always been on the story itself. The ideas and plot and characters presented transcend the physical media within which they are...
My focus when partaking of an accumulated work of written word has always been on the story itself. The ideas and plot and characters presented transcend the physical media within which they are presented. But I know from reading various forums, including that-site-which-shall-not-be-named, that many people steadfastly cling to their tomes of dead trees with a fervor that seems unshakable in the face of technology. The smell of mold ridden paper, the tactile sensation of flipping through the pages, the collectibility of a treasured collection of ideals... I understand the value of collecting an antiquated form of presentation, but does it truly add anything to the story telling experience? I liken it to vinyl records; the ability to touch what you are partaking of, that tactile and physical wholly personable experience with the media with which you are interacting can be a powerful motivator, but to try to convince me that Spotify is inferior because it is new and digital and convenient seems deplorable. When I read the same story on a Kindle are we not experiencing the same thing? Does the fact that I carry my entire library of 900+ books with me in my pocket dilute my experience? I can zoom, and dictionary, and Wikipedia, and translate literally at the touch of my finger. I can highlight and make notes, I can scan the book without losing my place, without ever needing a bookmark. What am I missing by not having dedicated and decidedly wasteful space in my home for storing my leaves of enlightenment?
Perdido Street Station by China Miéville. China seems to have an almost otherworldly grasp on sentence structure and language. A lot of people feel like he vomited a thesaurus into his keyboard, but to me it never feels forced, and lends itself to the insane worlds that he permits you to watch being built page after page.
The Book of the New Sun by Gene Wolfe. There is nothing else like this. The way the story twists in on itself, the way he forces you to overlook details that are clearly presented but go unnoticed until a second or third read through, the way the narrator lies to your face as he spins his self serving yarn... it is truly an amazing work of art. It is the only book I wish I could read again for the second time, for the first time.
The Hyperion Cantos by Dan Simmons. Not as "flowery" (I kind of hate this term when it is used to degrade well written prose) as the other two but still demands your attention. I'm not a huge fan of Dan's other works, but there's no denying that he is an excellent writer.