They say that this object is going to disappear soon.
They are going to substitute it with screens and ebooks readers. That’s definitely cozy.
But to me, the idea of a world without books is simply heartbreaking.
Every single time I have a book in my hands I think of my grandmother.
She taught me how to read when everybody else thought I was a lost cause.
I was a problematic kid: restless, I couldn’t focus on anything for more than twenty seconds. We also lived in the countryside, where values are slightly different than in cities.
So at some point I think people simply gave up on me.
But not her.
I was six or seven. We used to sit under an apple tree every afternoon after school. I picked up a book – it could literally be whatever: Jules Verne, Mexican recipes, the Oxford Dictionary – and we read it together, slowly, chewing every single word as if they were candies and all tasted differently.
Day after day, we fought my dyslexia together. And we eventually defeated it.
Digital words will always look flavourless to me.