As a disciple of the written word, I found this New York Times piece interesting: All about the joys of reading books on your freaking cell phone.
I love this quote from trend-setting New Jersey lawyer Paul Biba: “Once you get use to having books with you, you get used to reading in places where it never occurred to you. If I’m waiting in line at the supermarket counter, why not read one of my science fiction magazines? Believe it or not, I’ll sit down in my chair at home, pull out my phone and read a book.”
Oh, I believe it. I just don't know why it strikes me as pathetic. Hey Paul, they have this great new thing for reading in the checkout line. It's called a magazine. But then, maybe those who like to be seen shouting at their phones in every conceivable venue also like to be seen reading them.
OK, I'll concede it could make some kind of sense: you already have your phone permanently affixed to your body, it's lighter than a paperback and it has its own light for reading in darkness. But has it really come to this? That we would enjoy fiction as particularly long text message, on a page the size of a matchbook? Maybe my earlier lament about the demise of short fiction was premature.