I have always carried a book with me, wherever I go. It’s one of those great love affairs, timeless as Cathy and Heathcliff or Romeo and Juliet. I can count back the years like playing cards through turning the pages of books I have loved. Their covers, softened, have the patina of much loved photographs .They are tangible and real to me, as old friends or pets, curated in their stacks and shelves as lovingly as a museum collection. I pick up a book and recall, vividly, where it came from. Where I first read it. How it made me feel, or how the experience of reading it changed me, either very subtly like the infinitesimal graduations of waves on a summers day – or as a flash fire sweeps across prairies and grasslands, scorching and altering all beyond belief, bringing forth an entirely new world. To those of us absurdly in love with the talismanic properties of books – glorifying them beyond paper bindings and oblong shapes – an e-reader is tantamount to b...