Tender memoirs about lifetimes of reading almost invariably end with pious statements of disdain for ebooks. It just isn’t reading if you don’t have the rustle of paper, the heft of the binding, the (imagined) smell of the ink. Publishers, meanwhile, broadcast panicky warnings about how digital books will destroy literature, reduce authors to penniless drudges and, of course, decimate their own profits.
It doesn’t have to be this way. I like my Kindle (and my Nook), even if I don’t exactly love them. But digitalization -- of books, music, and film -- is not going to go away. Both publishers and readers will eventually learn to live with it, as the music business has had to. Herewith, some thoughts on the advantages and disadvantages of ebooks, how publishers can use the new technology to their own profit and that of their public, and finally, what we can learn from past upheavals in the delivery of written text. We have been here before.
The attractions of the ebook begin with its size. Anyone who commutes or travels has to love the little machine that slips into your purse. No longer is half the suitcase taken up with books for the journey; you can pick up a new read wherever there’s a wi-fi connection. You don’t have to find space on your shelves for a book you might never read again, and you don’t have to find space in your home for yet another shelf. Ebooks are (or should be) much cheaper to buy than hard copy -- more on that later -- so you can buy more of them. Out of copyright books are usually available free, so you can instantly satisfy that urge to dip into Emma once more. And if you forgot who that character is who pops up again a hundred pages after first mention, no problem. You can do full-text searching and find out in an instant.
On the other hand, maybe you do want to consult that book again. Finding it on your Kindle is not as satisfying as taking it down from the shelf and riffling through it. And as everyone knows, you cannot sell or lend your Kindle book. Do you really own it? Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. Although font choice and appearance have improved, in general the text on an ereader is not a thing of beauty. Far, far worse is the ebook’s inability to reproduce graphics well. Illustrations, tables, graphs all become fuzzy blurs. No point even trying to read a fantasy novel if you can’t consult the map. Reading end notes should, in theory, be much easier with an ereader: just click on the number. But sometimes the number isn’t linked to the end note text. And even if it is, returning to your place in the text is not always straightforward.
Many of these problems can, and probably will, be addressed through better software in the future. But there is a lot publishers can do right now to improve the experience for readers and, incidentally, to find ebook profits that they are now throwing away.
The first rule should be: Don’t treat your customers as enemies! The music business has learned that a surprising number of fans will pay for music, even if it can be pirated. But first they must feel that the price asked is a fair one for what they are getting. And they must believe that the seller is not withholding product arbitrarily, inviting a game of cat and mouse.
Publishers objected to the low prices charged by Amazon, explaining that paper, ink, storage, transport, retail costs, etc., were as nothing to the initial investment in finding and signing authors, editing, and marketing. But it doesn’t take a degree in economics to see that the first set of costs are still substantial, and that once the editing is completed the added cost of producing each e-copy is vanishingly small. (And many will have noticed that editing is an art seldom practiced these days anyway). Moreover, once you’ve bought the ebook, you still can’t sell it or lend it. So a fair price has to be far below the price of the hard-copy book.
So first: keep prices low. And maybe institute dynamic pricing -- a high price for new bestsellers, diminishing gradually with time. And a standard low price for backlists.
Second: figure out a way to allow people to sell or lend the ebooks, and how you can make money from it. For example, how about selling a book with a certain number of lending privileges -- say, four -- and charging for each one. The owner would pay perhaps $4 every time she lent the book out. Or maybe the borrower would pay it. After four loans, the book could not be lent again. But it could be sold. How about 2/3 of the original price, with the publisher pocketing 1/3 of that?
Third: why don’t publishers get into the lending business themselves? Most books people buy are read once. Why shouldn’t customers pay to borrow a book for, say, two weeks, after which it would disappear from their devices? The University of Chicago Press already does this -- $8 for a 30-day loan of an academic book, which is a bargain. But I haven’t found any other publisher following their example.
Fourth: I’m not the first to suggest that purchase of a hard-copy book should come with a free ebook of the title. That way, the disadvantages of hard-copy books for commuting and travel disappear, and there is a greater incentive to spend the higher price.
Finally: Drop the absurd restrictions on international ebook sales. Why do U.S. publishers want to turn away eager buyers from Canada? Why can I order hard-copy books from amazon.co.uk, but not download an ebook from their site? Why? Huh?
Perhaps publishers believe that if ebooks are artificially restricted, priced at absurd levels, unobtainable on loan even from your own mother, you will be driven to pay $35 for the hard-copy. Not this customer. Public libraries still exist, and I’m willing to wait. And if you escalate the hostilities enough, I’ll have no compunctions about pirating.
We have, as I said, been there before. Until the 2nd or 3rd century, most books were written on scrolls. The codex (books like the ones we use today) supplanted the scroll around 300-400 A.D. No doubt there were readers in those days who lamented that reading the codex just did not have the same tactile pleasure as unrolling a scroll (and perhaps it did not). The sad part of the story is that as the use of scrolls diminished and old ones deteriorated, only texts copied onto codices survived. The fourth century was one in which theology was the main interest of most readers. That is how most of the plays of Aeschylus and Sophocles, and all but one of Sappho’s poems were lost. I don’t think we can be complacent about our newest changes in technology. Books which are not digitized, and which survive in only one or two copies, may well be lost. Films that have not been digitized have sometimes been lost already, as the old filmstock deteriorates.
Nevertheless, the old media persist alongside the new, though usually for a niche public. Many ardent audiophiles still prefer vinyl, and it is being produced again in greater quantities. Torahs are still read from scrolls, and traditional Chinese painters may still chose handscrolls for panoramic landscapes. Printed books will be produced for the foreseeable future, and even if ebooks take over for most reading, art books and picture books will probably always be far better on paper.
But note that you will seldom hear someone say that you can’t really appreciate Homer if you don’t read his works as he (or they) intended, on scrolls. Or that Confucius can only be truly understood if you read the Analects on thin strips of bamboo tied together with rawhide, since that’s how they were first published. Books will be enjoyed just as much on ereaders as they ever were on paper and maybe, as technology improves, even more.
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