I don’t really think he’s an utter bastard, of course. In fact, I adore Neal Stephenson. He’s a wonderful writer, more than prepared to take on immense sweeping subjects and deliver in spades. Which means his damn books are immense buggers. Which means I have a cinderblock-sized copy of Anathem glowering heftily at me from the Must Read Soon pile.

And I’m looking at it, and it’s looking back at me, and I’m thinking to myself… what with work reading, and the day job, and the kids, and movies and hobbies and just that thing I do where I just sit and drink myself senseless… the only way I’m going to be able to read that sucker is if I have a massive plane trip coming up. Which I do, luckily enough, with World Fantasy Con in Calgary, Canada in a couple of weeks. But I ain’t lugging anything that weighs as much as all my clothes together across the Atlantic no matter how wonderful a read it’s gonna turn out to be.

And it’s at this point that I finally realised that even a curmudgeonly, luddite old “I’d rather sit in my armchair with a nice glass of something and a proper book, thank you” type like me really, really needs an e-reader. Which I take to mean that if even I want one, the time has come. How ’bout you?

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