Whether it be stories about magical tree houses and funny talking pigs or works by Dostoevsky, the paper books I keep stacked on my bookshelf serve as a permanent testament to the works of literature that I've conquered and enjoyed. Books just wouldn't feel right any other way.
The physical book will always remain in some respect, but more as an aesthetic curiosity, and a fine, curated remnant of a prior age. But reading? Whether by candlelight or halogen, that will be done by Kindles, Nooks and iPads.
Earlier this year, I experimented by serializing chapters of my new novel. One email I received in response was from a couple. They have written, illustrated and constructed a full website for an online serial called Impeccable Petunia.
He is Enrique Jerez, 60, a major purveyor of olive oil and sherry in Spain, and he is visiting three different factories he owns in Sevilla. He is a silver-haired grandfather, and he is more than happy to show Ronda his small collection of photos.
Ronda wakes hours later to light that is low and creamy yellow. Sitting up in bed, she tries the phone number in Lanjarón. It rings and rings. Frustrated, she slams the receiver back into its black cradle.
In the package on the pillow there was a long black lace shawl, hand made, from Sevilla. Ronda is sitting on the bed, wearing it now cloaked over her head and face and that is the only thing she is wearing.
Ronda blushed and Jesús bowed slightly. "I'm afraid I must go inside now. Otherwise, there is a bride who will have no music." He reached down and only then did she notice the black guitar case beside his feet.