I lusted after my father’s Kindle since he bought it a year or two ago. Whenever I flew home or flew to school or did any sort of traveling in general, I entertained the exciting delusion that I could read five books by the time the trip was over. Whether it was a daylong plane ride or a weeklong road trip, I crammed my backpack with many unhappy books that know they’re nothing more than dead weight. But if I had a Kindle, I would’ve had room for other things in my backpack. Things like toothpaste.
I now have a Kindle. A Kindle Paperwhite. I pre-ordered it a month or so ago. The week after it arrived, I carried it with me everywhere, as you do with a new instrument of technology. But as my dad says, they’re only good for reading books. I felt rather silly opening the Kindle during dinner at the mess hall to realize there was no reason it should be there with me.
After the initial excitement wore down, I actually began to read on it. Nothing for school, because I already had the physical books—weird phrase—and they are better for quick referencing. Several texts found themselves sucked out of the proverbial cloud into my little friend. Poetry by Robert Frost, Walt Whitman, and John Donne, the ESV Bible, some Nietzsche, Dickens, and sets of essays by David Hume, Mark Twain, and Ralph Waldo Emerson. Those are just the freebies. I bought Ron Hansen’s Mariette in Ecstasy, which was only three bucks, and just an hour ago the Pevear and Volokhonsky translation of the Brother’s Karamazov. For a romantic like me, the possibilities are endless. I could be reading Nietzsche right now!