Amazon Kindle Will Make Print Superfluous

Before you know it, you may find yourself saying goodbye to the publishing industry: Why, you ask? Because it's no longer necessary. Within a generation, I predict--and probably sooner--the entire book-publishing business is going to disappear.

How do I know this?

Because I now have in my hands a brand-new Amazon Kindle.

I've long understood on a theoretical basis what the Kindle might do to the publishing industry (see my blog entry dated 12/10/2007), but now that I own one myself I'm even more convinced. Not only does it meet all the expectations I had, but it does one thing I never expected it would: it actually improves the experience of reading.

You probably find this statement strange. Most people do, and when I show them how the Kindle works, the first thing they say is, "But don't you miss the feel of a real book in your hands?"

No, frankly, not at all.

First of all, the Kindle feels like a real book, so overcoming that barrier is easy.

The best thing about the Kindle, however, is the subtle but profound way it changes the way you read. I'll have to back up to explain this:

John Garnder in The Art of Fiction says that when fiction works effectively it creates a "vivid and continuous dream" in the mind of the reader. And he maintains that any errors in the writing break the dream by reminding readers that the characters and story aren't real--they're simply words on a page. He concludes that the primary goal of any fiction writer (aside from writing vividly) is to keep the reader from being distracted, and hence pulled out of the fictional dream.

This is exactly what the Kindle accomplishes.

How?

By making page turning seamless.

You may think this silly unless you've tried a Kindle. If you've used one, you already know what I mean.

Think about it for a minute. When you reach the end of a page, you have to hold in memory the portion of the sentence you just completed. Then you have to let go of the book with one hand, spread the pages out with the other, separate a single page from all those remaining pages, sometimes struggling to get the right one, flip the page, then find the right spot with your eyes again, and finally reconnect the new words with those from the previous page. It takes only a second or two, and you do it without complaint (because you have to), but no matter how brief, each page of the novel becomes a break in the vivid and continuous fictional dream.

With the Kindle, however, it's just a simple flick of the thumb and the new text appears without interruption.

It's a bit like swimming with your head down versus having to lift it up to breathe with every stroke. The connection to the water is much more fluid and natural, and the fictional dream is seamless. This improvement has to be experienced to be understood, but it makes reading an even more absorbing and pleasant experience than it already is.

It's the difference between skimming along the suface of the water and growing gills and plunging down deep for as long as you want--an evolutionary leap that could leave the publishing industry gasping for air.

The Islander