I AM sitting in a very serious library. I want to laugh. I want to jump on to the table and sing (or worse). Like laughing at funerals, libraries have that giddying and highly inappropriate effect on me. But today a feeling of sadness cuts in; this is not a celebratory dance, but one of frustration and dare I say it, boredom. To my horror, I am feeling stultified by these rich annals of academe. I am ashamed of this.
Being a 21st century academic, I like to think I have one foot in the technological zeitgeist and one foot in some abstract notion of dusty intellectualism. I am happy to float around as long as I have my mp3 player, mobile and laptop with me.
Whilst loving a fast paced gadget-ridden life, I have also bought into the whole alma mater, Merchant Ivory fantasy that I suspect (along with the prospect of cheap beer) fuels a lot of university applicants. What’s wrong with eating cucumber sandwiches on the croquet lawn under dreaming spires with a dusty copy of ‘War and Peace’?
Sat here in this library, my unease grows. There is a medieval hush and I feel strangely irrelevant in my bookish isolation. Quick! What external force shall I blame for my own lack of concentration? The 1960’s? The ‘modern’ age? The day the first TV was invented? I look around and wonder what we are all doing sat in silent rows, in this solemn stone building. I wonder how many people really read all these musty tomes. How many people just prefer the idea of it to the reality? Shall I do a head count in the library or the bar?
I worry for the future of the book. I worry it is an endangered species. I look at the wall of books next to me and feel sad for their survival. How popular will books be in 100 years? I fear its longevity is even more threatened now by technology, by the Internet, TV, PDA’s, mp3’s, podcasts, and blogs. I embrace the modern age, but have a sneaking old-world ambivalence. With World Book Day once more upon us, surely I can be reassured my fears are unfounded. The book is alive and kicking!
However, still floating round my ivory tower, I see other less tangible threats to the book. That er… um… ‘dumbing down’ thing we are all supposed to be suffering from. I fear the book may be a casualty of some vague spiritual or intellectual decline that is probably really a fear of my own ‘dumbing down.’ Is this the modern malaise in a bookless land or just despair at an impending deadline?
Even though I am not the most bookish scholar, I would miss giving the disdainful and guilty glances at all those mystifying titles on the bookshelf. No intention of ever reading them, only the study notes, I feel the shameless hypocrisy of the dilettante. It is comforting nonetheless to believe that somewhere, someone actually is reading them. I am actually more interested in how many date stamps are on the inner cover, like a popularity rating, feeling particularly sorry for the nil points ones. What will happen to those? Will they be pulped to make an environmentally sound road surface? Did the author ever expect such a steam-rolled route to obscurity?
Of course there will always be a need for the written word. The eighties dream of a paperless office never materialised. There will always be storytelling in its myriad formats. Technology is spreading the word, not suppressing it. However, it is a question of format not content. It is the old ritual and romance of a book I would mourn. Today’s vinyl aficionados bemoan the clinical immediacy of the mp3, for lacking the aesthetic beauty of a real artefact. They miss the whole record store, thrill-of-the-chase experience of hunting down that rare record. I too would be saddened if one day atmospheric bookshops and hallowed library corridors were replaced by a quick soul-less download.
Granted, I am a doom-laden soothsayer, panicking at this bleak view of a bookless future and all that would entail. It may never happen. These may just be the romantic ramblings of a traditionalist. Maybe I should get off the Internet and er…like actually read one of those book things!
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