Let’s get this out of the way: no, the Nook is not the same as a bound, paper book. Yes, we all love books and books should continue to exist. The Nook is not nostalgic, it doesn’t smell of pipe tobacco, mint juleps or seashore cabanas. However, it is a hand-held computer with books on it, and, for what it does, it is a nice thing.

The Nook had its own nook (tee-hee!) at Barnes and Noble manned by a disinterested, wimpy young male who looked like a hipster Gene Shalit. He begrudgingly helped me navigate the library by explaining that I don’t open a book by pressing on the title, but instead should use the arrows on the bottom of the screen. Considering that I had to ask a stranger a question, I’d say the Nook has a teensy little learning curve, but nothing a quick glance at a how-to manual or a doughy bookstore employee can’t fix. I just personally believe that I should know things intrinsically and find the existence of instructions to be (in theory) a waste of my time.

I visited the Nook counter with my boyfriend, John, who, most decidedly, is not a wimpy hipster. He does not own any packaged action figures or keep books about post-modern tree houses on his coffee table. He’s a man. He likes man things. Things like fire and loving deeply. His job includes math, blueprints, and a welder’s helmet. I say all this to explain that John - who has very little need to bring a Nook on his morning commute - thought the Nook was cool. If I got him a Nook, he would use it. That way, he could carry around his whole library: Rebuilding Engines Up Your Asshole, Hammer Fight Sex Lumberjack, and I Will Kill Bad Guys To Save This Kitten. Then he’d find a way to drag race with it.

Admittedly, I didn’t get a lot of usage out of the Nook while standing at the counter, but it seemed pretty self-explanatory. It’s an electric book, just like the kind that Neal Stevenson predicted in The Diamond Age and Dr. Seuss predicted in There’s A Nook All Up In My Rookadookalook! It’s for reading books.

You connect to a wi-fi spot, download books, keep them in your database, and read them whenever you want (unless you drop it in the sink). You can adjust the font and the screen brightness, and the books are very easy to read.

I honestly can’t imagine anyone complaining about the Nook, except for curmudgeonly librarians who hate electricity and look like this:

One important feature on the Nook seemed to be “airplane mode” so that you can still turn it on and it won’t transmit data. Thank God, because the last thing our airlines need is another Carl Hiaasen-related crash. (Said in the voice of the curmudgeonly librarian: “The next thing you know, they’ll be asking us to turn off our chewing gum! Our chewing gum for our mouths will be electric! Grackle Grackle angry mouth-breathing!”)

You can even lend books to friends, which, although limited, is still a feature that the Kindle apparently does not have. You can’t read the book yourself while it’s being lent out, however. This, the curmudgeons will have to concede the device is exactly like a regular book.

Of course, the first thing John and I did was look up my memoir: I’m Perfect, You’re Doomed: Tales From A Jehovah’s Witness Upbringing. It is available for the Nook and has nine customer reviews with a total of three stars. On Amazon.com, my book has 60 reviews and four stars.

That being said, the Amazon Kindle is clearly a superior product.

After we were done getting some Nookie (I made that up all by myself!) my boyfriend suggested going to the biography section to see if Barnes and Noble had my memoir in stock. I noted that we had just seen my book in stock, on the Nook! This shows the illusory nature of e-words, things we can’t put on a shelf. After seeing my book, we still wanted to see my book.

Personally, I’d rather own a bound book, but that’s because I grew up with them. Children born in 2010 will probably be repelled by the idea of a backpack filled with heavy, coffee-stained bound paper and think of us as illogical and stuck in the past. But at least I don’t live with my parents, so suck it, you 2022 pre-teen know-it-all. I make my electric bed when I feel like it.

My prediction for 2050 is this: books will become obsolete for everyone but antique collectors and babies. Obviously, you can’t toss a Nook in the crib with Xavier Gabriel like a copy of Pat the Bunny. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe books have staying power. Maybe this whole “book” thing will become sticky and viral. After all, people always fear progress. When the clock tower was invented, I imagine that ‘time enthusiasts’ were crying about the inevitable death of the sundial. God knows I would never want to read a sundial on the subway. Nor do I want to read Sundials: Their Theory and Construction by Albert E. Waugh (Paperback - June 1, 1973). Honestly, I only read dystopian sci-fi novels about electric books.