Delight in the written word

You know what's great about a book? An actual, physical, paper-bound book?

I can read uninterrupted. 

There is no chat box or frantic video popping into view, interrupting my thoughts and the narrative of a story. No big-boody woman in tight lycra, no ad for items I don't need or want, no disgusting earwax or leech-looking creature suddenly appears on the page. There is no pop-up asking me to sign in. No one is warning me about cookies, spam or unsecured pages.

There's nothing to distract me from the interpretation of the subject that the author is conveying.  I can leisurely traipse amongst the words I am reading, having fully formed ideas.

When I don't recognize a character or I can't quite remember what happened in an earlier chapter, I can simply turn back the pages. 

I get to use a bookmark. I can carry the book around. I ponder the cover, and inside the back flap I read about the author. I feel the weight of the book. I smell the pages.

The beauty of books on a shelf, or stacked up next to the bed, is a comfort. All the favorites are at hand.

I like books in all forms. I use the old Kindle, where the only ad is on the stand-by page (for some book I would never read). I read a lot on the internet, mostly articles. I read, read, read to keep sane, and I can appreciate all the forms that literature comes in.

But, man, there's nothing like a book.