Christine Rosen of The New Atlantis writes in People of the Screen about the possible death of the book.

She begins:

The book is modernity’s quintessential technology—“a means of transportation through the space of experience, at the speed of a turning page,” as the poet Joseph Brodsky put it. But now that the rustle of the book’s turning page competes with the flicker of the screen’s twitching pixel, we must consider the possibility that the book may not be around much longer. If it isn’t—if we choose to replace the book—what will become of reading and the print culture it fostered? And what does it tell us about ourselves that we may soon retire this most remarkable, five-hundred-year-old technology?

We have already taken the first steps on our journey to a new form of literacy—“digital literacy.” The fact that we must now distinguish among different types of literacy hints at how far we have moved away from traditional notions of reading. The screen mediates everything from our most private communications to our enjoyment of writing, drama, and games. It is the busiest port of entry for popular culture and requires navigation skills different from those that helped us master print literacy.

And yet when photography entered the art world vernacular it was believed that painting would die out as well.

There is another aspect of reading not captured in these studies, but just as crucial to our long-term cultural health. For centuries, print literacy has been one of the building blocks in the formation of the modern sense of self. By contrast, screen reading, a historically recent arrival, encourages a different kind of self-conception, one based on interaction and dependent on the feedback of others. It rewards participation and performance, not contemplation. It is, to borrow a characterization from sociologist David Riesman, a kind of literacy more comfortable for the “outer-directed” personality who takes his cues from others and constantly reinvents himself than for the “inner-directed” personality whose values are less flexible but also less susceptible to outside pressures. How does a culture of digitally literate, outer-directed personalities “read”? (emphasis mine)

I see this as holding much truth. How often does one write a blog post or send a twitter tweet that is a true “personal journal” type piece and written in the vein of non-expectation of feedback from readers? While I do like the opportunity that technology offers for interaction and dialogue that can ensue, the idea of contemplation, of letting the words percolate through the recesses of the mind don’t seem to be high on the list of social media priorities (which to me means that the “book” will never truly die).

This post is a perfect example. I write it with the hopes that you the reader will come along and offer your opinions on my opinions and engage in a discussion about the subject presented. But, in the fast paced, changing-by-the-minute, internet media, I am in the dark ages with this post. I’ve had this article sitting in my browser for over a week AND it was originally written in the fall of 2008.

But the jury is nearing a verdict. While the testimonials of digital literacy enthusiasts are replete with abstract paeans to the possibilities presented by screen reading, the experience of those who do it for a living paints a very different picture. Just as Griswold and her colleagues suggested the impending rise of a “reading class,” British neuroscientist Susan Greenfield argues that the time we spend in front of the computer and television is creating a two-class society: people of the screen and people of the book. The former, according to new neurological research, are exposing themselves to excessive amounts of dopamine, the natural chemical neurotransmitter produced by the brain. This in turn can lead to the suppression of activity in the prefrontal cortex, which controls functions such as measuring risk and considering the consequences of one’s actions.

Writing in The New Republic in 2005, Johns Hopkins University historian David A. Bell described the often arduous process of reading a scholarly book in digital rather than print format: “I scroll back and forth, search for keywords, and interrupt myself even more often than usual to refill my coffee cup, check my e-mail, check the news, rearrange files in my desk drawer. Eventually I get through the book, and am glad to have done so. But a week later I find it remarkably hard to remember what I have read.”

And just in the process of writing this post I have: checked email, sent a couple of tweets, subscribed to four new podcasts, and read three different blog postings. If I was sitting in the chair across the room, book in hand, computer off, I would get much more reading done.

Go and read or (as I did) print and then read the whole piece and then come back here and offer your thoughts on whether or not the book is dying a slow painful death.

I am off to read a book.