There are some things I swore I would never do.
One near the top of the list was to get a Kindle. I love books. I love the feel of them and the smell of them [if they’re new]. Kindle was a step too far into this strange modern world.
I bought a Kindle.
I can’t remember exactly what prompted this sacrilegious step but the Devil’s deed was done.
I confess I like it. It is convenient once I have got used to its quirks. I seems to open several pages after the last bit I remember but that may just be my memory, or the fact that I was already going to sleep and didn’t register what I was reading. That gives a clue to why I read so much – I like to read myself to sleep.
One of the huge advantages of the Kindle is that if I finish a book, I can immediately download another and carry on reading. That’s not so easy with a normal book as it involves either heading off to the library or a bookshop or else ordering one online and waiting a few days for it to arrive. Neither alternative is going to get me to sleep at the time.
I also like the feature that if I come across an obscure word it will kindly give me the dictionary definition if I ask it nicely.
However Kindle has it has its disadvantages.
There is nothing more annoying that being half asleep and happily reading away when I suddenly get a message saying my battery is low. How could I explain to a previous generation that books require batteries? It’s annoying but fortunately doesn’t happen as much these days/nights provided I remember to switch off the Interweb connection.
The other one is more awkward.
I am running out of authors. I am delving deep into unknown territories and trying new authors on a regular basis. One problem I have found is that if I read two books by the same author I tend to confuse the plots, so I have taken to jumping from author to author.
But what happens when I have read every book there is?