As a child I spent every summer with my nose in a book. Each year I looked forward to summer library loans, which back then allowed you to keep books for several months – instead of a couple of weeks – at a time. With the help of neighborhood librarians, I would make my selections and cart home as many volumes as I could carry, delighting in their musty smell and smooth plastic protective covers. One year, when I sent my summer books ahead in my camp trunk, the counselor who unpacked it before my arrival remarked that she couldn’t believe that someone who wore such small clothes could be reading such big books. At the time I thought it was an insult.
I can read this way on my iPhone while walking to the subway; forget my discomfort standing in the rush hour crush; plug the device into the kitchen radio during the time it takes to cook and clean up; and even slip the iPhone into a pants pocket when I’m doing other chores around the house. Suddenly I am a voracious reader again. For those who say that listening to audiobooks isn’t “reading,” I heartily disagree. It’s simply another way of consuming them. And when a wonderful narrator reads a compelling story, it’s an even richer literary experience.