Thanks, J.K.

Hello readers. I have missed you dearly and must apologize profusely for my prolonged absence. You see readers, I have been a bit preoccupied studying for my new job. Yes, studying. I am now officially a server at this fancy, froufrou Greensboro restaurant. I recite specials, fill water glasses, serve from the left, clear from the right, and can recite all 78 wines by the glass; so readers, if you ever need any advice of what type of wine to pair with your meal of choice, do ask.

But to business: the final Harry Potter movie. You see, I am a bit of a Potterhead; I have never been as devoted to a book series as I am to J.K. Rowling's saga of the boy who lived. I was not only the Potterhead who pre-ordered all the Harry Potter books 6 months in advance, but the same Potterhead that would devour each freshly printed copy in a single day. Not only have I traversed to Platform 9 3/4 at Kings Cross Station in London (3 times), but I have also visited "The Elephant House" (the infamous cafe in Edinburgh where the rags to riches author penned the first of the Harry Potter books). It goes without saying then that I felt compelled to devote a special post to a fellow reader and writer, J.K. Rowling.

Platform 9 3/4 at Kings Cross Station, London.

The world Rowling was able to create from nothing captivated and inspired me. In many ways, I grew up with the characters from the novels, albeit without the constant threat of dark magic lingering overhead, but nevertheless with the familiar uncertainties, fears, apprehensions, and awkward teenage moments found within the novels. True to life though, all good things must end. Although we readers now have no other books to delight in, the original 7 remain on our bookshelves. I think I prefer it that way too, readers. I don't want to be reading the 37th Harry Potter book when I'm 56, and would rather it end as the author designed. The boy grew up, so the story must end.

The book where it all began.

While the tale of Harry's journey to adulthood consistently drew me in, what truly bewitched me (along with millions of other readers) was the additional allure of all the fantastical imaginings, adventures, and characteristics of Rowling's magical wizarding world. The detail and breadth of Rowling's imagination has never ceased to astound me, and it is her skill and craft as a writer that will keep me returning to my bookshelf year after year. So, thanks J.K., from one reader to another, for a wonderful adventure.

Still Reading . . . Only Revolutions by Mark Z. Danielewski

Currently reading: Wanderlust, A History of Walking by Rebecca Solnit

Why kindles can suck it

WARNING: This is a rant, not a review.

'ello readers! My dear friend Sam Flake is in town and he too is a lover of the written word. Yesterday, while we were out traversing the streets of Greensboro, we realized that we had never been to the used bookstore across from our beloved alma mater, Guilford College. Minutes after admitting our shame, we entered Empire Books. Now readers, I have to say used bookstores are my own personal Mecca; the piles of  torn, discolored texts are as alluring as they are dusty. I absolutely gravitate to the aesthetic of a good, quality used bookstore. They are a retreat from the impersonal, sterile atmosphere guaranteed to be found in any chain bookstore, not to mention a haven for my particular brand of readers. Also, let's not forget the prices: cheap, cheaper, and cheapest, which (for this post-graduate English and Religious Studies major) is ideal. But, dear readers, used books are so much more than a good deal; in many ways, they best represent my new mantra: borrow, borrow, borrow. 

BookManBookWoman: My favorite used bookstore in Nashville,TN.

The inside of BookManBookWoman, i.e. heaven.

Books are meant to be shared, discussed, and passed on from one reader to the next. This truth is never more evident than in the form of a used book. The pages are worn with use, dog-eared, and graffitied with names and notes from previous owners. These texts are a living testament to not only to the power of books, but also the human need to share stories, histories, and lessons with one another. It is this borrower's opinion that this constant system of exchange is poetry in its purest form.

Then there came the advent of e-books. Bleh. Don't get me wrong readers, in many ways the roaring popularity of this new fad is beneficial. First of all, people are reading again (thank God) and yes the issue of portability for busy bees on the go is positively solved. E-books are portable, relatively inexpensive, and can arguably be even more easily shared with friends, family, etc. Granted, I am still not a fan, but I can acknowledge the advantages if you are in to "that sort of thing". However, the source of my discontent lies with the Kindle.

The future of reading?

Yes you, Kindle; you are cheap, easy, and technologically savvy and I do not like you. Why would readers even feel the need to pick up a real book when you are by their side? You, Kindle, render the process of leafing through a text or simply lifting a finger to turn the page completely unnecessary. I cannot, nor will I ever be able to, condone you and your sinister ways. People need books; real, physical objects they can hold, scribble in, peruse, and collect. How will used bookstores ever persist in an era where a new, futuristic brand of readers can simply store e-books on their Kindles, Nooks, or what have you? At this rate, libraries will become antiquated within the next 20 years and physical texts a thing of the past. 


So Kindle, this borrower says most respectively and sincerely: suck it.