Paper words, digital words

A little while ago, I had an argument with a coworker about the Kindle and other e-readers, and whether they are a boon or a curse for the reading community and for society. I generally try to avoid arguments with people at work for the good reason that, according to an adage I read somewhere, “Talk sense to a fool and he calls you foolish.” That was certainly the case here. Somehow I got sucked into it.

I came out firmly in favor of the Kindle. My much older coworker (who I’ll call “Babs” for convenience) came out firmly against. I’ll say right now, though, that I don’t own a Kindle, and I have a fond affection for the printed volume. But I recognize my affection is purely sentimental and illogical. I like the weight of books in my hands, I like looking at them on my shelf, I like the way they smell. Also, a lot of the books I read are long, oldish, not-widely-read history books that may have no Kindle version available or only a low-quality one.

My love for antiquated paper and ink notwithstanding, I think the Kindle is a fantastic innovation. Someday I may come around to buying one. Babs could only shake her head. Her first argument against them wasn’t really an argument at all, just a repeated statement that something about reading on an electronic tablet “isn’t the same” as reading on paper. Since there was little logic here to rebut, the only thing I could say is that the important part is literacy—not the medium by which we exercise it.

Her other point was more interesting to argue against. “Think about all the people who make books,” she said. “All the people working the printing presses and running bookstores. I just think about all those people who are going to lose their jobs.” It’s a nice sentiment, in a way—and expected from someone who is part of a generation for which “commodity” means a physical object—but it’s a totally backward way of looking at economics.

Babs is right that plenty of people in print publishing are going to lose their jobs. It’s already been happening for years. This is undoubtedly frustrating and even tragic for the individuals and families involved, but it’s only a fraction of the story. Think of all the people involved in building the software to make the Kindle work. Think of all the people involved in building the slick hardware with the screen that—damn it—really does look like a printed page. Think of the workers assembling the parts and shipping them. Think of the people making Kindle versions of old books, maintaining the purchasing and download systems, handling customer service. These are jobs that didn’t even exist a few years ago.

And it doesn’t end there. E-readers are opening up fantastic opportunities for amateur writers to self-publish at minimal cost. One of the barriers to launching a writing career—selling yourself to a monolithic, institutional publishing house—is coming down. This is also probably opening up opportunities for small-time freelance editors to begin finding more clients. These, too, are groups of workers benefiting from innovation.

But it doesn’t end there, either. E-readers benefit consumers. I enjoy the time I spend poking around libraries and bookstores looking for print volumes. But I understand there are plenty who don’t. The Kindle ends up saving its users a significant amount of time. A cynic would say these people are probably going to waste that saved time anyway—and he may be right—but he couldn’t say the opportunity isn’t there. Maybe a Kindle reader will find that he finally has the time to reconcile general relativity and quantum mechanics. Or to be less grandiose, maybe he’ll just find he has more time to do his reading and also play with his kids. That’s a good thing, right?

Ah, but there are still those poor typesetters and ink-rollers standing in the unemployment line. What about them? Well, they failed to abandon a sinking ship. Rather than sticking to their established jobs with the blinders on, they should have learned about programming for the Kindle. I don’t mean to belittle them, because I can’t say I won’t someday be caught behind the curve of some great new innovation that makes my job obsolete. But if I do, I won’t expect anyone’s pity or philanthropy.

It’s true that innovation frequently puts certain groups out of work. But it also puts so many more groups to work. It may destroy a few jobs here and there, but it never destroys wealth. It always creates it. And that’s the main thing.