The pleasure of a real book

There's been qutie a lot of discussion on blogs and elsewhere about e-readers versus real books. I can see both sides of the argument (if there still is one). E-readers are handy, convenient, clear, light to carry. What's not to like? John found his invaluable when he broke his arm - it was easily managed with his good arm, and page-turning wasn't a problem. He will certainly take it on holiday.

But today, I was reminded yet again of the sheer pleasure of a real book. A new book* arrived this morning (courtesy of a Christmas Amazon token), and as I flicked through it, glanced at the reviews and the biograhy of the writer, felt the lovely clean, tight newness of a hiterto unopened paperback, smelled that new-book smell, admired the rather nice cover illustration, I knew that, for me, there's no comparison. I may yet acquire a Kindle, but it won't be the same. It will be like, say, drinking from a plain china cup rather than a beautiful porcelain one. The drink will be the same, but the experience just won't be.

*The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, as recommended by Alis!