The Future of Books: What of book sightings and signings?

Just over a week ago I posted a quote from a book called Judging a Book By Its Lover, by Lauren Leto. I now feel compelled to share another excerpt from that book, which is really a collection of witticisms and anecdotes about books and reading - from one book lover to others. It's a fun read, and my only true criticism of it is that Leto tends to be rather American-centric in her literary references.

I have written before about paper books ('real' books) versus e-books. Leto gives a compelling argument in favour of paper books that I had not previously thought of:

"There's a reason book lovers are the last ones to hold out in this digital revolution. Music and movie lovers have never had the same pleasure that book lovers have in being able to identify on sight a fellow fan of Tolstoy or Didion. What does the e-reader revolution mean for all of us who get a thrill from noting the book in a stranger's hands?

Music devotees meet other fans at concerts or by recognising concert T-shirts. Movie lovers will wait in line together at midnight for the first peek at the new Tarantino film. Readers, however, have it better; they carry around the objects of their worship and roots of their collective bond everywhere they go."

She goes on to point out that: "...in ten years, print books themselves may be a thing of the past. I fear as digital books become ubiquitous, the tradition of reading may remain as strong but the ability to sight fellow minds will be disintegrated. As book covers slip from hands and are replaced by plastic tablets, readers lose the wonderful, clandestine opportunity to quickly create a mutual understanding with strangers. Then what will we be left with? And what about other print traditions? If bookstores vanish, where will an author's book readings occur? And book signings? What will authors sign?"

Oh, this made me sad.

Most of us books lovers will have a story about seeing someone reading a book we love - on a bus, in an airport, on a plane - and connecting with that person, either entirely in our minds or in reality. I love that sweet moment when one is reading a book in public only to look up and find a complete stranger nearby reading the very same book. Often a smile passes between the two of you, a knowing smile, and to me that connection between strangers is a confirmation of humanity. It makes me warm inside, a feeling I might carry with me for the rest of my day. Other times that coincidence and symbol of similar interests is enough to spawn a conversation. Sometimes, through the haze of severe jetlag, I have enjoyed such a moment, perhaps after seeing someone reading a book by a favourite author, or reading a book I want to read, but have yet to pick up. Frequently, I will ask how my fellow reader is enjoying the book, and a conversation ensues which combats the boredom of a lengthy transit or a long haul flight.

The thought of these chance meetings disappearing fills me with preemptive nostalgia. But worse still: book signings. Author readings.

I have been going to these since my undergraduate days, when writers would come to the English department of the University I attended, and have sought them out ever since. With my mother, I saw Margaret Atwood speak at a theatre in Kingston, Ontario, when she was at her feisty best, and experienced for myself that quick wit and sharp sense of humour. I heard Michael Ondaatje speak in Toronto, alongside Anthony Minguella, soon after the film version of The English Patient was released. They spoke of the process of converting the book into the movie, how Minghella fell in love with the book and tracked down Ondaatje, how they collaborated to make the movie that would win the 1997 Academy Award for Best Picture. I heard another of Canada's great novelists, Timothy Findley, speak before his death in 2002. I attended an intimate bookstore reading by the beautiful Arundhati Roy after which I spoke to her and watched her face fall as I gave what I thought was a compliment:

"I like your style of writing," I said to her.
"I don't have a style," she responded, deadpan. I still remember the sound of her voice as she read from that incredible book, The God of Small Things.

In Sydney I heard the great Jonathan Franzen speak about Freedom, and met his handsome gaze afterwards as he signed my well-worn copy.

In fact I still have the signed copies of all of those books on my shelves. They are my treasured possessions. Someone once told me that they were wary of meeting the writers they loved in case they differed from expectations, in some discomforting way. But I have never worried about that. Writing and reading, when interconnected, become two sides of a rather intimate activity - these people, the writers, have already invited me into the depths of their mind. These are people I already know, in some way. I want to meet these people, more so than actors, who are playing a part when we see them on screen. And I have yet to be disappointed.

The thought of book tours and book signings disappearing along with paper books is just too much to bear. But Leto is right: where would Paul Auster sign his newest e-book for me? How would Salman Rushdie sign an electronic version of Joseph Anton? (even the thought of Joseph Anton in e-book form seems somehow sacrilegious)

So join me, please, and let us rage, rage agains the dying of the light.