Pulp Fiction

I recently discovered audiobooks; I believe I’ve mentioned. Pretty cool that I can read on the way to the grocery store with causing a car accident. Also, reading while knitting? That’s big. And I discovered last night that cleaning the bathroom is more entertaining if you bring vampires with you.

But I have a problem.

Let’s talk about real books first. I love real books. I love the smell and the texture. Old paperbacks that I’ve read seven times over that fit into my hands and won’t fold all the way shut again. And here’s the cool thing about books. They have a life cycle. When a book goes to press, it starts life as a hard back. $20. I don’t buy much in the way of new hardbacks myself. With the exception of J. K. Rowling, I can’t recall the last time I shelled out the money for a brand new book the instant it hits the shelves.

Patience pays off. After a bit, a book become a paperback. $5 to $10. Better. And after that, it ends up at the used book store. $3 to $5. Huzzah. Same story. We’re reusing and recycling. For a small amount of money, anyone can grab a good read and then press it into the hands of a willing friend and cycle continues. Beautiful.

And any book falls into the public domain at some point or the other. Then publishers like Dover Press can put classics like Charles Dickens and Jane Austen out for $2 or even $1. Fabulous. And those copies end up at the used bookstore to be had for loose change. Brilliant. Better and better.

But as I’ve said, I’m a little too busy for paper right now. Much to my sadness. Audiobooks work, given that the reader is any good, and I’m learning that there is definitely skill and talent required there. But here’s the thing about audiobooks. There are no second hand shops for electronically distributed media.

Let’s take an example. I recently picked up “Anansi Boys” by Neil Gaiman. When it was brand new in 2005, the hardback went for $26.95. My local bookstore has the paperback now for $7.99. A quick search on ABE showed me a variety of used booksellers across the country selling dozens and dozens of copies for $1 each. The audiobook? $27.97. Do you see my point?

Sure, you’re getting a reader and some production value. But really, more expensive than the hardcover? Four years down the line? How does that work?

I got my copy from the library and slowly ripped all 8 discs to my computer and crunched down the tracks into something usable. It took a little time, but it was free. The audiobook section at my library is small but you can get a lot of stuff on interlibrary loan if you’re patient. Took me months to get the Twilight books. My library, though, not in the best financial shape right now. How about yours? It almost shut down completely a couple of months ago. It’s limping along now with reduced hours and I’m guessing the book buying fund isn’t so hot.

And used bookstores? There’s one left within a ten mile radius of my house. The only bookstore in town, actually. I’ve seen five close down around here in the last five years, I think. I’m beginning to lose count.

I suppose it’s worth noting that there are various e-reader versions of “Anansi Boys” available for download for about $7. That’s a whole nother thing, but at least it’s competitive with the current paperback price.

Then there’s the DRM bit. If I read a paperback, I’m completely within my right to hand it to my sister and say, “Here, take this; you’ll love it.” If I had downloaded the audiobook or the e-reader version? Ooh, copyright infringement. Same data. How did that happen? I suppose I could send her the link and she could shell out her own $27.97. Sorry, sis.

As we lose bookstores and libraries, I fear we’re losing more than access to books, but freedoms and liberties, one by one, page by page.

Where does that lead us? I don’t really have a solution. I’m just putting it out there. But it seems to me that holding a bit of tree pulp in your hands means that you can hand that information to others, but digital data, and more importantly, the laws we’ve allowed to form around it, is closing those hands.

Whose hands are they, anyway?