I freely admit my obsession with the tactile.

From my earliest memories I have been both a newspaper and a book junkie. I suppose that I was a bit unusual (OK, friends and family, I will admit to some continued quirks and idiosyncrasies) in that I was known to borrow books from the Galion Public Library not only because of what they contained, but because of how they were made. On one occasion, Mrs. Gill or Mrs. Phipps – probably the former – actually called my mother when the fifth-grade version of me attempted to borrow a book from the “Adult Section.” For you post-library renovation patrons, that does not refer to that kind of adult section, but rather that magic area behind the main desk of the library where the “real” books lived that Moms and Dads could check out. On that occasion, I was borrowing a book for a school project that was printed on onion skin paper. It both looked good and felt good.

Ditto with newspapers. Contrary to what some may think, the decline of newspapers has been a very painful one for me. I remember the excitement during my youth when my Dad brought home the Sunday Mansfield News Journal and Cleveland Plain Dealer for the family to consume – the five children would pass around the comic sections in turns, while I typically dove first for the inside feature magazine. In the 1980s, I was addicted to the TV show “Lou Grant” and dabbled with the idea of becoming a journalist. In later years I loved spending time in large newspaper rooms at public libraries, my favorite being that in the Main Library in Columbus.

In my heart of hearts I am still there in that tactile world. In a practical way, however, at least with newspapers, I have moved on. I have an inquisitive mind, and the space limitations of newsprint have long since shocked me. Likewise, I have seen the power plays that can come when a single medium reports news and then restricts interaction with the content they create claiming a “lack of room.” I no longer subscribe to any print newspaper, and with the exception of the occasional Inquirer, I never purchase newsstand editions.

I have not moved on with books, however. Yes, I have hefted a “Nook,” and read excerpts from novels on an iPod Touch. I can understand these digital readers’ purpose and their flexibility of use. To me, however, the tactile experience is so integrally woven into the experience that it is as if reading has become something else entirely, something foreign and less, well… human. Before I purchase a book, I have to look at it, touch it, examine the font, feel the paper stock, etc. – all to predetermine how enjoyable the reading experience will be. On more than one occasion I have refrained from buying a book I had wanted to read when the idea of curling up with a particular book is a revolting one.

To me there’s a cavernous difference between newspapers and books as well that makes it harder to give up the latter… books are meant to stand alone as works of art, as definitive expressions of thought. They don’t “report,” they “are.” They exist to encourage creativity and imagination, to probe the mysteries, and to stir the intellect and spirit. I don’t want someone else’s opinion of what they have to impart, I simply want my own.

Which brings me finally around to the reason I am penning this unexpectedly long blog post. In a story from one of Columbus’ online news media this week, it was reported that the two Border’s locations in Columbus – on Kenny Road and on Sawmill Road – will be closing as a part of the chain’s Chapter 11 bankruptcy proceeding.

This is a loss to any real book lover in central Ohio. To my mind there has always been a difference between Border’s and Barnes & Noble, a difference which I expect has led to Border’s demise. To me, B&N is akin to the “Wal-Mart” or the “Blockbusters” of books – when you walk into of their locations, you may not know the precise layout of that particular store in the chain, but you know from experience how it will be arranged. Bestsellers are plentiful, as are magazines. In your given B&N, there will be a smattering of books on any given subject.

Both of the Columbus Borders locations, however, are/were markedly better in terms of subject depth. Take a typical aisle which would draw my attention – Architecture, for instance. Instead of the paltry 50 or so books that almost every B&N will have (and usually the same ones), there might be as many as 300-400 at Borders. That depth implied an appreciation for the reading experience, as well as for the intelligence of their customers. Not every visitor to the Architecture section wants a stock book on Victorian home design – and at Borders, it was possible to find unique works which were written for niche markets.

I am reminded of the time that I wanted to purchase a copy of Stephen Fry’s first autobiography, Moab is My Washpot. If you don’t know who Fry is, my condolences. Fry is, as it is said in the United Kingdom, a “national treasure” – not for any feat of sport or musical ability, but rather for being a combination of raconteur, intellectual, comedian, actor and author. I knew better than to head to B&N to find the book, where I knew that I would have to wait for a special order. I simply waited for my next trip to Columbus for a quick stop (ha! – they were never quick stops) at Borders.

The loss of Borders is attributed in some circles to their late embrace of e-books. Perhaps so. But for real books, it exits the scene as the true champion of bibliophiles. True, some Borders stores may survive bankruptcy, but it’s almost guaranteed that the others won’t be the same. They will end up looking like any old garden variety B&N.

So, with a lump in my throat, I say “good-bye” to Borders.

Photo Credit: Closed Borders - The Ewan/Creative Commons License