A few years back, I was contemplating life in my one-bedroom flat. Storage has always been an issue and, as such, I’ve found that my love of books had overtaken so much of the living room that it wasn’t unusual for me to have four-foot tall columns of them dotted around the room which I promised myself I would, eventually, read.
Truth be told, I was never going to read the thousands of books (literally) that I owned – conservatively, I’d probably read fewer than 10%, though this didn’t stop me buying more.
Anyway, I switched to Kindle when I found one on eBay at a bit of a bargain price… and I haven’t looked back.
It prompted me to finally deal with the elephant in the room – the elephant, in this case, being an addiction to books. I chose to dispose of around 90% of the collection (though revised this figure to exclude a rather extensive Doctor Who collection), donating them to local charity shops. I still buy printed books, but it’s a very specific list these days (Doctor Who books, for example) and far, far fewer.
The Kindle, however, after years of me poo-pooing the idea, has become a regular fixture for reading. It’s a slick piece of kit that is starting to show its age, but not in a terrible way. It may lack the touch-screen and super fast page turning of the current models, but it still does a cracking job and has a decent battery life.
There’s still some books that don’t work as well on Kindle – biographies, especially with photos, would probably be best read using the Kindle app on a tablet (or in print), but for everything else, it’s been a boon.
It’s also done the thing I should have been doing years ago and reduced the number of books I buy. I love being able to switch from one book to another without having to carry more than one with me (sometimes I buy a dud) and it’s much less likely to become dog-eared.
Onwards and upwards on the book front, I’m still disposing of them – there’s a number of storage boxes under my bed to go through!