From The Millions: This is is precisely how I feel about the fiction in the New Yorker.
As Frank Kovarik notes, it really is a crapshoot. "I came to recognize, though, that reading magazine fiction is a crapshoot. I think that’s why many New Yorker readers rarely read this part of the magazine. When you read a piece of nonfiction, you know what you’re getting into, and you know you’ll come away from the experience with something tangible—some information or perspective on the world. And you can stop midway through and still have something to take with you. Fiction doesn’t work that way, at least for me. It’s like sex—uncomfortable if abandoned midway through. The rewards of fiction—the ecstatic transport when you’re pulled into the world of a story, given a new window into human experience—can be greater than those of nonfiction, but you can also finish a story angry that the writer has just wasted 45 minutes of your life that you’ll never get back."
Monday, June 14, 2010
Friday, June 11, 2010
(Re)Considering Dave
A friend sent me this interview of David Foster Wallace the other day. It's quite long at 45 minutes, but if you have the time, I'd highly suggest taking the time to watch it. It's more of a conversation rather than an interview, but I think it's especially great as a primer for his fiction (since let's face it: Infinite Jest is intimidating).
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Thoughts on E-Books; Or, A Different Kind of Reader
BEA (Book Expo America), the annual publishing convention of New York, offered a recent locus of anxiety and discomfort regarding the hazy future of the book industry. The New York Times coverage of the event characterized the mood as a "frenzied conversation about electronic books that has hijacked the business."
I didn't attend the conference, but the presentation titles suggest that the publishing industry has grudgingly acknowledged how the Internet is indeed a game changer. (Example: "When Gutenberg Meets Zuckerberg". ) Publishers like to frame, for lack of a better word, the transition to online modes of publishing as something which could destroy their business model. In this sense, I agree, but I don't share their same sentiment of dread and despair, yet nor do I believe the Internet as a one size save all panacea to problems in publishing. Instead I think the Internet/digital books/ online content forces publishers to re-evaluate what they do in their role as literary gatekeepers. In other words, the heart of e-book anxiety really begs the distinction of form vs content. How these distinctions are made? What do or could they mean? And how can it translate into a revitalization of a reading public?
The music industry is often touted as being in the same, sinking boat as publishing, but they differ in one crucial aspect: the form of consumption. It doesn't matter how you enjoy music; listening to the White Stripes on your ipod is pretty much the same as listening to it on the radio. The experience of enjoying musical content is the same regardless the form it takes as a CD, cassette, or MP3 file. Granted, sound quality changes, but this difference is generally negligible given the already decent playback quality of MP3 files. With books however, the form becomes immensely important. Avid readers relish the lovely weight of their favorite book in their hands. They love the tactic quality of reading, of turning the pages and perhaps prematurely flipping to the end ( or at least I do). But the book I am describing here is someone's favorite book where its form becomes critical to the process of enjoying its content. Its comforting weight, its pages, its physical space on the bookshelf.
E-books and their readers (an accidental pun!) on the other hand clarify how readers consume what kinds of content. In other words, certain categories of texts, magazines, "light reading" (however one may personally define it), or newspapers are all kinds of content where form doesn't really matter. Their physical forms were designed to be easily disposable and even re-purposed. (The sole purpose of newspaper in my home for about eight years was for lining the birdcage.) We see publishers moving in this direction, albeit too slowly in my opinion. This type of content is ideal for e-readers precisely because of their ultimately disposable quality. (Textbooks as e-books are an especially promising form due to the defrayed costs of physically producing huge textbooks that are destined to be resold anyway for a tenth of its original price to university bookstores.)
As for books not intended for the recycle bin, E-books are great if 1. one is going on a long trip to New Zealand and cannot decide which among the 50 unread books to bring 2. for everyday commutes in general or 3. one just happens to really like the convenience and efficiency of consolidating one's library into the size of just one book. But I do believe that there are those in the world, like me, who will always want and need books in both forms, depending on one's purposes. It's also important to keep in mind that the "one size fits all" formula won't apply to all books. One person's favorite book, say Lord of the Rings, may be another person's commuter reading. E-books force publishers to differentiate between types of content, but my main point is that content should determine the form(s), and not vice versa. Publishing does not need to be an either/or situation anymore.
However, it seems publishers like to privilege the (hardcopy) form of a book over its content. Granted, digitization used to send publishers in a panic due to fears of rampant copying and piracy. Here the music industry is being implicated as a parallel "worst case scenario," but again, I don't think that comparison ultimately holds water since the forms of consumption offer such radically different experiences. (Try reading all Harry Potter books on your computer, or even the iPad, before desolating your tear ducts.)
Let's pause though for a moment with an old story called, When Xerox Came to Town. Chris Anderson talks about this in his book the Long Tail. When Xerox first enabled people to make copies, publishers had a tantrum and claimed everyone would stop buying books if people were allowed to copy whatever they wanted. Publishers lost their campaign to stop people from using copy machines, and to their surprise, the Publishing Apocalypse never happened. Why? Because no one really wants to 1. take the time to copy 500 pages of say Proust, and 2. reading grainy copies is inherently a poor reading experience compared to a lush new copy of In Search of Lost Time.
So - are E-books substitutes for books? Yes and no. It depends on what and why you are reading that E-book. It depends on not who you are as a reader, but how you read. Identifying who consumers are will remain important, but I imagine the latter may become equally critical in monetizing digital content. As awesome Kindle is and as pretty the Ipad may be, book lovers will always want a hardcopy version of their most loved books. And at the same time, consumers want e-readers for books on the go. E-readers may even encourage reading (and writing), and we already see this happening. Novels written on cellphones. E-books helping dyslexic readers read books they never would have read in physical form (although the 1000 pages of Monte Cristo are indeed intimidating to anyone I would imagine).
Lastly, I wanted to briefly mention how it seems the publishing industry acts like a wounded animal in the continuing aftermath of technology. I understand the concerns of journalism, but it seems to me that the publishing industry is perhaps not in as dire of a situation as it imagines. Instead, it is in a tremendous position for transformation and revolution. Granted, industry figures are down in profits, but I suspect this has more to do with the souring economy and the fact that books are expensive, like really expensive. (Purchasing just 5 books at the Strand cost me almost a hundred dollars, even at slightly discounted prices.) E-books make books cheaper. And the truth is many people want to buy a lot of books but can't because they're simply too expensive, or because they foresee perhaps that a book will be likeable, but unjustifiable in the 18.99 price tag. (I read Motherless Brooklyn once while on vacation, enjoyed it, but know that I will probably never pick it up again. No offense at all to Jonatham Lethem.)
Perhaps if publisher made (e)books cheaper customers would buy more books (I know I would), because the reassuring fact is that books will never go away. People will always want books. The question today is: how do people want to read books, and how does one direct the right books to them?
I didn't attend the conference, but the presentation titles suggest that the publishing industry has grudgingly acknowledged how the Internet is indeed a game changer. (Example: "When Gutenberg Meets Zuckerberg". ) Publishers like to frame, for lack of a better word, the transition to online modes of publishing as something which could destroy their business model. In this sense, I agree, but I don't share their same sentiment of dread and despair, yet nor do I believe the Internet as a one size save all panacea to problems in publishing. Instead I think the Internet/digital books/ online content forces publishers to re-evaluate what they do in their role as literary gatekeepers. In other words, the heart of e-book anxiety really begs the distinction of form vs content. How these distinctions are made? What do or could they mean? And how can it translate into a revitalization of a reading public?
The music industry is often touted as being in the same, sinking boat as publishing, but they differ in one crucial aspect: the form of consumption. It doesn't matter how you enjoy music; listening to the White Stripes on your ipod is pretty much the same as listening to it on the radio. The experience of enjoying musical content is the same regardless the form it takes as a CD, cassette, or MP3 file. Granted, sound quality changes, but this difference is generally negligible given the already decent playback quality of MP3 files. With books however, the form becomes immensely important. Avid readers relish the lovely weight of their favorite book in their hands. They love the tactic quality of reading, of turning the pages and perhaps prematurely flipping to the end ( or at least I do). But the book I am describing here is someone's favorite book where its form becomes critical to the process of enjoying its content. Its comforting weight, its pages, its physical space on the bookshelf.
E-books and their readers (an accidental pun!) on the other hand clarify how readers consume what kinds of content. In other words, certain categories of texts, magazines, "light reading" (however one may personally define it), or newspapers are all kinds of content where form doesn't really matter. Their physical forms were designed to be easily disposable and even re-purposed. (The sole purpose of newspaper in my home for about eight years was for lining the birdcage.) We see publishers moving in this direction, albeit too slowly in my opinion. This type of content is ideal for e-readers precisely because of their ultimately disposable quality. (Textbooks as e-books are an especially promising form due to the defrayed costs of physically producing huge textbooks that are destined to be resold anyway for a tenth of its original price to university bookstores.)
As for books not intended for the recycle bin, E-books are great if 1. one is going on a long trip to New Zealand and cannot decide which among the 50 unread books to bring 2. for everyday commutes in general or 3. one just happens to really like the convenience and efficiency of consolidating one's library into the size of just one book. But I do believe that there are those in the world, like me, who will always want and need books in both forms, depending on one's purposes. It's also important to keep in mind that the "one size fits all" formula won't apply to all books. One person's favorite book, say Lord of the Rings, may be another person's commuter reading. E-books force publishers to differentiate between types of content, but my main point is that content should determine the form(s), and not vice versa. Publishing does not need to be an either/or situation anymore.
However, it seems publishers like to privilege the (hardcopy) form of a book over its content. Granted, digitization used to send publishers in a panic due to fears of rampant copying and piracy. Here the music industry is being implicated as a parallel "worst case scenario," but again, I don't think that comparison ultimately holds water since the forms of consumption offer such radically different experiences. (Try reading all Harry Potter books on your computer, or even the iPad, before desolating your tear ducts.)
Let's pause though for a moment with an old story called, When Xerox Came to Town. Chris Anderson talks about this in his book the Long Tail. When Xerox first enabled people to make copies, publishers had a tantrum and claimed everyone would stop buying books if people were allowed to copy whatever they wanted. Publishers lost their campaign to stop people from using copy machines, and to their surprise, the Publishing Apocalypse never happened. Why? Because no one really wants to 1. take the time to copy 500 pages of say Proust, and 2. reading grainy copies is inherently a poor reading experience compared to a lush new copy of In Search of Lost Time.
So - are E-books substitutes for books? Yes and no. It depends on what and why you are reading that E-book. It depends on not who you are as a reader, but how you read. Identifying who consumers are will remain important, but I imagine the latter may become equally critical in monetizing digital content. As awesome Kindle is and as pretty the Ipad may be, book lovers will always want a hardcopy version of their most loved books. And at the same time, consumers want e-readers for books on the go. E-readers may even encourage reading (and writing), and we already see this happening. Novels written on cellphones. E-books helping dyslexic readers read books they never would have read in physical form (although the 1000 pages of Monte Cristo are indeed intimidating to anyone I would imagine).
Lastly, I wanted to briefly mention how it seems the publishing industry acts like a wounded animal in the continuing aftermath of technology. I understand the concerns of journalism, but it seems to me that the publishing industry is perhaps not in as dire of a situation as it imagines. Instead, it is in a tremendous position for transformation and revolution. Granted, industry figures are down in profits, but I suspect this has more to do with the souring economy and the fact that books are expensive, like really expensive. (Purchasing just 5 books at the Strand cost me almost a hundred dollars, even at slightly discounted prices.) E-books make books cheaper. And the truth is many people want to buy a lot of books but can't because they're simply too expensive, or because they foresee perhaps that a book will be likeable, but unjustifiable in the 18.99 price tag. (I read Motherless Brooklyn once while on vacation, enjoyed it, but know that I will probably never pick it up again. No offense at all to Jonatham Lethem.)
Perhaps if publisher made (e)books cheaper customers would buy more books (I know I would), because the reassuring fact is that books will never go away. People will always want books. The question today is: how do people want to read books, and how does one direct the right books to them?
A Brief Greeting
This is the first post of your soon to be avid blogger, This Hungry Owl.
This blog is a literary collection of many things - of thoughts, poems, observations, articles and ideas - and I hope you will find them useful or entertaining. Some you may like and others you may not, but I suppose that is a risk we all take as readers.
This blog is a literary collection of many things - of thoughts, poems, observations, articles and ideas - and I hope you will find them useful or entertaining. Some you may like and others you may not, but I suppose that is a risk we all take as readers.
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