Winter Books 2008 / Approximately a year after its mega- hyped debut, the Kindle from Amazon is still insisting on its right to exist. Even Oprah Winfrey, arguably one of only a handful of humans who are able to get other organisms excited to read, screamingly endorses the electronic book device.

The major technical complaints about the flat, white, over-sized calculator-looking gadget are mostly reserved for the next page buttons; but it’s not as easy to accidentally push them as critics suggest. Frankly, an iPod playlist is far more unwieldy to navigate with one hand. It’s like people complaining about video game controllers because they think the “x” button is in the wrong place: dude, admit it–you’re uncoordinated.

Another downside is actually using it in public. The device gets attention. People either want to see and touch it, or have you explain to them what the hell it is. To this day, lunch in the break-room barely allows me to scan a single chapter of an easy-reading Bond novel without someone asking if I’m filing a minority report. For the time being, the Kindle should be treated like flashy clothes or bling: don’t rock it if you don’t want to be noticed.

The real test for usability is how it holds up in the three most common and enjoyable reading situations. The first test: reading in bed. Depending on the book, the Kindle is actually lighter, making it more manageable to manipulate in a prone, horizontal position. The second was traveling. With the free Whispernet feature, available books can be wirelessly downloaded from [Amazon.com], thus eliminating the sucky airport bookstore selection. And it alleviates the space and weight of your carry-on making it possible to have multiple novels literally in the palm of your hand. Having your entire library with you is a prospect too enticing to ignore. Imagine reverting to an iPod-less world where you don’t have your entire music collection with you.

Lastly, and perhaps the most important reading situation: the crapper. Here the Kindle actually improves upon the book. Since you can operate the device with one hand, your other one is free to wipe. (Hence my phobia about used books: I can’t help but picture people turning the pages with their doo-doo fingers.)

Then there’s the sheer convenience of literary access. No more rustling through box after packed box before running into the street screaming, “Where the living crap is my The Unbearable Lightness of Being?!” Just look up your desired tome from the library list.

Unfortunately, the real problem that people should be complaining about is that not enough titles are available, including Milan Kundera. Oprah’s picks are literally about as literary as the Kindle gets, but for on-the-fly downloads of something popular that you don’t want to be caught purchasing in public–ahem, Twilight–the Kindle can be the electronic equivalent of the brown paper wrapper covering an unsavory magazine.

Of course, romantics will always prefer ink and paper. Just like with the advent of MP3s, there is a bit of nostalgia for being able to physically touch your music. And if things go far enough, the joy of hanging out in bookstores will be sorely missed, much like the faint memories of walking down an aisle at Tower Records thumbing through stacks and wiping down the oily cushions of listening station headphones.

Still, the electronic ink is clear and easy on the eyes and if the writing is compelling enough, you don’t even notice you’re holding an battery-powered object. And with the state of the environment, even art can be categorized as a luxury. There needs to be room in the future for the viable option of an e-book. Paper doesn’t grow on trees, you know. Oh wait…

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