Monday, September 13, 2010

In Which I Am Kindled

It was a most-welcome late birthday present: the new Kindle 3. I’ve written about e-book readers several times, beginning with the very first Kindle and a lamentation over its astonishing ugliness. But Amazon has fixed the ugliness problem, and made a host of other improvements--most notably dropping its price down to a level that people can actually sorta kinda afford. The device arrived on Wednesday so I am now an expert, because fiddling with new gadgets is way more fun than it ought to be.

The whole premise of eInk, and the extra crispness of this new screen, definitely live up to expectations. I’ve had Kindle’s app on my iPhone for months, but I never did much reading on it because of the tiny screen size and the massive, overpowering glare if I tried to read outside. (Which I often do.) In no time at all, I already find myself treating the Kindle almost (almost) exactly like a book. I read indoors, I read outdoors, and if it’s dark I need some light. (No, I did not buy that nifty-looking but expensive cover with the light built in.) The turning of pages is almost automatic, and I find that the length of the screen flash between pages is no worse than the length of time it would take to turn an actual page—often faster, since you never have that problem where several pages get bunched together and you can’t get quite the first one separated, so you spend what feels like twenty minutes trying to flick it loose.

The magnificent difference, of course, is that in a gizmo smaller and thinner than most hardcovers (and weighing about the same, in a cover) I am currently carrying seven books. Which barely scratches the surface of how many books I can actually carry.

Considering that I’m usually in the middle of five or six books at once? This is impossibly cool.

And most of those books were free—material written before 1923 is in the public domain, and there are often multiple sources for copies that can be downloaded at no cost. I’m a little wary of downloading anything that originated in another language, since there’s no telling the quality of the translation, and that leaves out Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Goethe, Voltaire and hundreds of others; but the whole of English literature pre-1923 is available. Dickens, Forster, Austen, the Brontes, Henry James, the list goes on and on. I even picked up the first volume of Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Right now I’m reading Silas Marner, and enjoying it a lot. The only book I’ve purchased so far? A complete Shakespeare for $2.65. It looks so good, I can easily imagine a bunch of actors at a Shakespeare festival, standing around in rehearsal, reading from their Kindles.

I particularly like the ability to highlight a chunk of text that I like, and the Kindle will keep it both marked in the book, and stored in a separate area where I can look only at things I’ve marked in various books. If I had Proust on the Kindle, for instance, there’s a quote I’ve been trying to find in it for years without success--but if I could search for it, and then mark it, that would be fantastic. All without “defacing” the book by scribbling in it.

There are things that I miss. The specific thumping sound that a book makes when you tap on it, a sound that nothing else quite makes. (Books make decent drums, actually.) The feel of the paper that changes subtly from one book to another. The pleasant conundrum of what to do with the bookmark while you’re reading. People talk a lot about the smell of a book and I’m sure that’s true, but my sniffer isn’t very powerful so that one doesn’t really work for me. The feel, though--plastic ain’t paper, and that’s definitely a loss. But compared to the ability to easily lug around an ever-growing library in one slim device? I’ll happily accept the loss.

Friday, September 10, 2010

When Mark David Chapman Gets Paroled…

... would you hire him? If he’s been set free after all these years, and comes to you looking for a job, and is qualified in every way except that he’s Mark David Chapman and he not only killed a man, he killed John Lennon. Would you give Chapman a job?

It might depend on how old you are--if John’s murder is as distant to you as JFK’s is to me, then you might be (slightly) more inclined to hire MDC. Except of course that there’s still that bothersome history of mental illness, and the fact of a murder in his past. Not to mention how your customers might feel--if you’ve got a bunch of Beatles fans and they find out that man is working for you, might they decide to boycott your business? They might. They definitely might.

Or maybe it might depend on how much you love John Lennon. If you don’t at all, you might not even recognize MDC’s name. But even a cursory background check will reveal the truth, and you’ll then have all the peripheral objections I just mentioned.

(One odd and ironic fact: John Lennon wrote “Attica State” in solidarity with the inmates after the ’71 riot. Attica State is where his killer ended up being incarcerated.)

So I suppose you have to ask yourself, Do I believe people can be rehabilitated? Or, do I rather believe that some people are what they are and can never be changed and therefore should never be let out of prison? In which case, you might as well execute them because there’s no place for them in society therefore society is better off without them. With someone like Jeffrey Dahmer, that argument carries some weight.

But is Mark David Chapman in that same camp? Is he another Dahmer or Bundy or Manson? If we believe at all in the possibility of rehabilitation, mustn’t we extend that hope even to someone like Chapman?

But John’s death is not distant to me. I have been a rabid fan for decades, and I can’t stop wondering what John might have had to say about September 11th, and the war in Iraq, and the current wave of Islamophobia, and all the rest of it. I wish I could hear the songs he hadn’t written yet. Mark David Chapman, with his absurd Holden Caulfield fixation, took all of that away from all of us, and is it the sort of thing I can ever forgive?

(Here’s a recent piece in Time where Yoko Ono talks briefly about the difficulty of forgiving the man who murdered her husband.)

But there’s the beauty of a hypothetical (for me at least--for Yoko, it can never be hypothetical). Chapman was denied parole for the sixth time the other day, and it’ll be at least two years before he’s eligible again. I don’t have to answer this question in real life, and honestly, I have no idea how I would answer if it did come up. Would my deep-rooted sorrow over the loss of John Lennon outweigh an impulse I believe John would have supported, to believe that someone like that can be brought round again, to believe in second chances and the possibility that we can become better than we currently are? Or would I find myself fighting waves of nausea at the idea that that man was sitting in front of me?

What about you? If he came to you looking for a job, what do you think you might do? Hit me in the comments.