- Batteries. During the recent power outage in the northeast, I was able to read by candlelight even when I was trying desperately to conserve the remaining power on my various devices. I do not have to have my computer turned on in order to look up a word origin or the history of Norway. In the coming global superpocalypse, I'll still be able to read via the ray of sunshine coming through the bunker airholes, whether or not I have a charge or a signal. (Note to self: Pack Apocalypse Books)
- Possession. Once I have it in my hot little hands, a book is mine and no one can relieve me of it unless they break into my house and figure out my shelving system. What Amazon and Barnes and Noble give, they have the power to take away. That being said, a house fire would take out both my paper books and all of my electronics. (Note to self: Pack Apocalypse Books in Fireproof Box)
- Longevity. I can sit down with my son and read books that were read to me as a child. Yes, the same books. Technology is not yet to the point where he will be able to say to his children "this is the ebook that grandma used to read to me when I was little--we can't read it because that file format is obsolete, but there it is on my ancient backup drive." I also have many of my mother's books, including her Regency romance novels, and reading them gives me the feeling of being close to her.
- Marginalia. In college, developed a complex system of symbols and notes that enabled me to very quickly find relevant pages in the books I had read and, of course, amuse myself with my own witty commentary. Physical books can be marked, tabbed, folded, inscribed, and lent to others who may add their additional commentary. If necessary, they can be thrown across a room in a fit of pique. Someday, ebooks may catch up on this front, but they're not quite there yet.
- Sharing. I'm sure that it's possible to give the gift of an ebook. One might even be able to e-write some nice sentiment in the front before emailing it to one's friend or relative. But the paper book has a physical presence that says "pay attention to me, the person who gave me thinks I'm important." A physical book can be shared with others, it can be re-gifted, it can be sold to a used bookstore, it can be donated to the library, it can be used to prop up a wobbly table, it can be turned into a purse. The afterlife of paper books is full of possibilities.
- Price. Bear with me on this one. Ebooks are, in general, less expensive than their newly published counterparts. However, they aren't less expensive enough to make the investment worthwhile, given their instability . . . once purchased, they should be backed up (especially if Amazon moves farther from "sales" to "licensing" and begins removing content again). If the purchaser wants to keep the material for a longer period of time, ebooks will have to be transferred from device to device. The common format today will no doubt be superseded by future formats, which may not be compatible, and so on . . . $1.99 is the maximum price I put on this hassle. If it disappears from my computer, I haven't spent enough to be driven to tears by it. I will bend this rule to get a book by a favorite author that I absolutely couldn't get in any other format without selling a minor body part, as I have to purchase older novellas by Connie Willis.
- Proximity. When I think about paper books, I think about my collection as a whole. How I have ordered it and re-ordered it. How I can glance at a shelf and pull down a book to see my notes or read a particular passage. How I can easily see a stack of books (or five) I have yet to read, although I have the most sincere intentions toward them. A lot of people find their next read by browsing, and I like to spend time browsing my own shelves until something catches my attention.
Feel free to argue with me or provide additional support in the comments.
*There is, however, an app for that.