Customers have been asking us (with increasing frequency) what we think about the new e-readers. Our typical response is that while devices like the Nook, Kindle, or iBook have their place, in most cases we prefer having a real, physical bookshelf and the experience of reading a physical book. We believe that there’s room in the industry for both reading experiences – e-readers are likely to increase in popularity, and may replace certain segments of the traditional book market (textbooks, mass-market mysteries and thrillers, and other books with a defined audience and rapid publishing schedule), but there will remain a customer for whom the book is not merely a text-delivery device, but also an art object, something to be enjoyed for what it is, not what it does.
I think I’ve been willing to be a little generous about the e-reader threat because, when it comes down to it, I think they are kind of cool. It’s an interesting product, with huge potential. E-readers can do a lot of things that books can’t; I’m just not convinced that e-readers can do everything that a book can.
When I saw the following Amazon ads, however, I had to wonder if we’re not being too polite. The ad campaign is entitled, “Friends.”
Do you feel like your loyalty to physical books can be summed up in the act of dog-earing pages? Doesn’t that feel like a bit of a straw-man? There are lots of great things about books: the dust-jacket design, the sturdy feel of the boards, the creaminess of the paper, the font selected to fit the author’s voice, the arrangement of spines on your shelf, that moment when you stand in front of your bookshelves and scan the titles, searching for the right book or simply admiring them all. I’ve never dog-eared a page in my life*, and I’m a bit insulted that Amazon believes that dog-eared pages encapsulate the very best of my book experience.
*I know plenty of readers do, in fact, dog-ear their pages, and that is their (and your) right. But I remember feeling slightly guilty about highlighting and underlining even in my school textbooks, and I find no compelling reason to deface or damage my own books now. There’s a reason we put a bookmark in each book you take home.
Books in sixty seconds is an amazing thing. I can’t argue with that.
But there are plenty of things that I find amazing, and yet, still limited and greatly flawed. McDonald’s is an amazing restaurant and business model. Almost anywhere in the world, you can find the affordable, familiar, and convenient Big Mac. But I don’t believe that just because McDonald’s is amazing at what it does, that it means it is also superior to other restaurants or that it can replace all other eating experiences. If anything, the oversaturation of fast food has produced a desire to return to some kind of pre-McDonald’s meal: farmer’s markets, homegrown vegetables, locally-owned restaurants, food made not to maximize profit but to be enjoyed as food, to be shared as an experience.
The ad also glosses over some important questions. How did the girl (and guy) find out about the new book? From friends? From advertisements? Is it an author with whom they are already familiar? Good books will always be spread by word of mouth, but does the proliferation of e-books help or harm the reader’s ability to find the book that wasn’t marked from birth for the bestseller’s list?
Five years down the road, will the Kindle remind you of the time you met the author? Can you flip it open and re-read a note the author wrote for you? Can it record the author’s signature? Can you give away a much-loved book to a friend? Does handing over your Kindle for a moment mean the same thing as lending (or borrowing) a book from a friend?
The girl invites the guy to come with her to the bookstore; is the trip such a chore that he (and she) should be relieved to avoid it? I understand plenty of people find their lives too busy and wish for more time at home, but which column does the bookstore experience fall into: stressful hassle or pleasurable leisure? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard a customer say, “I could spend all day here [in the bookstore.]” I have never heard a customer say, “I can’t wait to get out of here.”
Is it time for us to take the gloves off? Should we still be willing to share the playground? A playground, I might add, that still feels like it belongs to us, market share be damned, still feels like it belongs to booksellers, because it was built and nurtured and tended by booksellers. I don’t think I’m exaggerating here; books and stories would still exist without booksellers, but not in the same way. I don’t know for certain that it would be much worse without booksellers; perhaps it may even have been better, in some way. But it certainly would have been different, and the influence of booksellers on the market gives us some sense of ownership.
No, the gloves stay on. Not because Amazon’s marketing campaign is right (it isn’t), and not because we’re taking the high road (which would not be a bad thing to do, but it’s not the reason the gloves stay on). The gloves stay on because pitting books against e-readers, as if they are adversaries, hurts everyone. Amazon might be willing to sacrifice the rest of the book industry to boost the growth of the Kindle, but it’s a short-sighted strategy.
So I’ll refrain from taking potshots at the Kindle and the Nook. Our aim isn’t to disparage Amazon or Barnes and Noble; doing so doesn’t develop loyal relationships with our customers. It’s not our job to make you hate them; it’s our job to make you love us.
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