Can we afford to lose the value of the book as a symbol?

I’ve been following an interesting discussion thread on the Tools of Change for Publishing LinkedIn page. The topic, Losing the book as a symbol, was started by Paris-based Francois Joseph de Kermadec, a self-described “professional word-wrestler.”

The gist of his post is this: with the advent of digital technologies, books have changed from a “tangible, brick-shaped presence” to something fluid that can be poured into any device fit for reading. That much is obvious—when we now say “the book” we usually mean the text, not the physical object.

In doing so, argues de Kermadec, “this convenience comes at the cost of a grave loss: that of the book as symbol, as an artifact of leaning, wisdom and moral fortitude” – and yes, he does really write like that. Books, he says, have “talismanic” value and by losing them we lose a way to encapsulate and convey such things as status and “a reassuring promise of humanity.”

“A portrait of a man with his iPhone may evoke digital literacy or modernity, but it hardly conveys knowledge. Nor do we pile up Kindle Fires on our occasional tables to subtly hint at our learned civility.”

Hyperbole aside, he does have a point, and others agree that new symbols are needed, symbols adapted to the digital age.

Just as scrolls made way for the book (see the great video in my earlier post), so the book is disappearing. But need it? Surely old-time books are ideal formats for art books and other subjects where the feel – texture, weight, etc.-- of the object is almost as important as what is on the page. Many books are works of art in and of themselves .

I am particularly fond of pop-up books that unfold entire worlds on their pages. And while 3-D graphics can do much the same (and probably more), they fail to amaze me by their artistry, by what can be rendered in a fragile medium.

What do you think?

Canadian authors bare it all

Looks like Allegra Young, a classical music producer, and author Amanda Leduc finally saw Calendar Girls, a 2003 comedy about a Women's Institute chapter's fundraising effort for a local hospital by posing nude for a calendar. And they were inspired, as their photo below well shows.

This time, though, the monthly models are Canadian authors,  men and women, and the "fig leaves" are books. Pen Canada will benefit from the sales of the inaugural Bare It for Books calendar, reports today's National Post. "When you buy a Bare It For Books calendar, you’ll support the fight for free speech, and show solidarity with all writers, readers, and thinkers worldwide," says Pen's website.

Young and Leduc hatched the idea through tweets. They then recruited the models via email: Angie Abdou, Trevor Cole, Farzana Doctor, Dave Bidini, Miranda Hill, Daniel MacIvor, Yasuko Thanh, Terry Fallis, Sachiko Murakami, Vincent Lam, Saleema Nawaz and Yann Martel. You can pick out your favourite month on the Bare it for Books website.



Amanda Leduc and  Allegra  Young



"It’s a risky venture,” Leduc says. “A naked calendar isn’t something that you see everyday.” But it's something you see far too often in my view, with everyone from firefighters to Peterborough's octagenarians getting into the picture -- but I'm OK with the firefighters. After all, they do protect us.

The calendars go on sale in October. Remains to be seen if the books and authors being promoted make it onto next year's CBC Canada Reads list.

Read this book and call me in the morning

This may what British GPs may soon be telling patients with mental health issues. According to Hannah Furness, writing in The Telegraph, 30 books have been found effective against such conditions as anxiety, depression, and relationship problems—even bulimia.

And no, this initiative was not launched by the publishers of self-help books, but by the Reading Agency, a “charity whose mission is to give everyone an equal change in life, by helping people become confident and enthusiastic readers. Because everything changes when we read.” -- I’m not kidding here. -- They announced the Books on Prescription scheme on January 28: the books will be in special sections of libraries in May.

If it sounds a little, well, nutty, the scheme has the backing of the Royal Colleges of GPs, Nursing and Psychiatry, the British Association for Behavioural and Cognitive Psychotherapies and the Department of Health. Funding is being provided by the Arts Council England. The Society of Chief Librarians is in league, of course.

A little research shows this is not a first: biblotherapy programs exist all over the UK and have for some time. Warwickshire even put out a really boring video about it.

In addition to the 30 prescribed books, this year's program is also recommending “mood-busting books”—novels, poems, and short stories to cheer you up. Of course, not everyone is convinced of the medicinal efficacy of cheery books. Also writing in The Telegraph, online culture editor Martin Chilton ponders whether MDs would be better prescribing depressing books as a literary shock treatment: just so you know others have it worse than you. He provides a list of 20 bleak reads to get you started.

I’ve never read a self-help book, but am tempted to try a dieting book to see if I lose weight. Or maybe a book on exercise will tone me up. Can you recommend any titles?

I “like” dead authors

As a former English major and avid reader, I – like others—have noted that classics of English literature appear with increasing frequency on the front sales tables of my neighbourhood bookstores. I put it down to movie adaptations stirring up interest in authors like Jane Austen (yawn). I’m sure that Kenneth Branagh’s adaptation of Henry V turned my son (and most everyone else) into a Shakespeare fan, something school never did.

 But who would have guessed that many of the dead greats live on? No, not in endless re-editions of their works, but in social media. They have been reincarnated on the Web.

 Last January 11, author Julianna Baggott wrote in The New York Times that she “started obsessing over the Facebook “likes” of authors — living and dead.” In her search, she found that living authors like Stephen King, “is doing extremely well in the virtual world with, when I last checked, over four million likes […]. The Stephen King – Writer page also thrives, at 573,081 likes. Even “Steven king” had over 98,000 likes.”

 More interesting, she found that Jane Austen had 628,548 fans, while the “Texas-­twanged Jane Austin” had 37,499.

But, she says, “few can beat Shakespeare’s hefty 3.9 million likes.” He is beat, though by Maya Angelou at 4,046,225 Facebook likes (Have you ever read her? I haven’t). But not to outdone, Shakespeare has a second-tier page — “Infamous Poet and Playwright” — with 1.7 million fans.

 And these authors, and many other departed, also live on Twitter. Some have many alter-egos. Some are also podcasting!

 I find this quite creepy. I’m all for keeping literature alive, but, really? I can only imagine literary groupies holed up in their parents’ basements drafting tweets for “their” author.

 I do like a great many of these authors, but am limiting my following to the printed word—in hard copy, at that.