It is a global tragedy that good old-fashioned books are anything but fashionable. Long gone are the days when we would find commuters with their noses buried in a book or newspaper, absorbed by the words which had the enviable ability to transport them to another place, far away from the monotony of their realities. The replacement of the mobile phone is the silent pandemic that has taken an unprecedented hold of the world’s population. With that is the lamentable loss of deep soul-searching through esoteric subjects inscribed on hard-copy pages. Instead, too many humans have become brain-dead robots mindlessly doom-scrolling through memes, reels and inconsequential feeds.
That’s why sitting on the Tube recently, watching commuters who have succumbed to their ”smart’ phones, was such a disappointing sight. They are all so engrossed in meaningless nonsense; I’m convinced the majority of material which is viewed on these journeys is stuff that could wait or simply isn’t important at all. It’s just a distraction from the boredom of looking around or daring to letting one’s imagination take hold and be transported to another fantastical realm. Since when did humans need to be ‘entertained’ constantly? Learning to live with boredom is a skill that is no longer honed.
Having owned a mobile phone for some years, I still refuse to sit on a train or in a car and be consumed by it. I only take my phone out of my bag if I receive a call or am expecting messages which need to be seen then and there. It’s not the easiest of tasks to refrain from but it is definitely achievable. I remind myself that I don’t want to succumb to that level of dependency or addiction to a device which I need to have control over and not vice-versa. Had I been someone who needed to make a regular commute on public transport, I know I would gladly allow myself to be absorbed into a book. That would be my reverie. The feeling of touching real tangible pages that can be turned with my fingers, that can even be smelled especially when that book is new, is something that no device can come close to replicating.
Strangely enough, when I was on the Tube this week, I did see a young man busy with a thick story book – a rare breed of his generation. It was a refreshing sight knowing that so many of his age would rather be wasting time on social media. It was a glimmer of hope that some people still will understand the distinct pleasure to be gained from a traditional read. I know generations before us would lament that we never knew the beauty of using a quill pen or reading from a scroll – each generation feels that sense of loss as new tools come to replace the old. However, there is no denying the irreversible changes that modern technology has brought upon us and many of them are destructive to our health, both mental and physical.
Perhaps I am demonising new technology too much. Perhaps I am romanticising life before the invention of the mobile phone as I know there are many advantages of technological advances. However, it seems that the nefarious uses of phones and computers have overtaken many of our lives. And I see the irony that I am writing my blog on a laptop which will be read online – exactly the format I would rather steer away from. Yet, I still aim to make reading from a traditional book a continuous part of my existence. It is a pastime that I have always cherished and an escapism which is unparalleled by other activities. I also believe it is a great way to offset dementia which is something that seems to be on the increase amongst older people. I am sure there is a direct correlation to online activities and many ailments which people suffer from now.
There is no doubt the internet is here to stay. But the same needs to be said more vociferously for the good old-fashioned book as well.
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