Somehow I don’t think Washington will ride to the rescue of the ailing book business, as the age of pulp fiction and nonfiction gives way to the Kindlezoic Era.
By the way, I saw several Kindlers Kindling (Christmas lyric?) on the plane to New York last week, and–Updike help me!–I must admit they looked pretty darn cool, though I lamented the loss of pulp-powered history and aesthetics in a recent radio commentary. Sample tease:
Books are also cultural touchstones, part of the timeline of our lives. Even cheap, lurid crime and Sci-fi paperbacks from the Forties and Fifties speak volumes about what people valued, what they desired and what they feared.
Books have an individual character, a tactile reality, a smell, a life span, that make them precious and loveable in ways no collection of bytes can be. They take up space, they react to moisture and heat and light. Mortal and tattered, they age along with us.