Returning from Atlanta last weekend, I felt that I had to put the baby boomer issue behind me forever. The SIBA conversation reinforced what many booksellers have been telling me in person and by e-mail. The consensus seems to be a fervent belief that boomers will retain their love of books until death do them part with the printed page.
With apologies to my Shelf colleague Jenny Brown for venturing near children's bookworld, I'll admit that my brief foray into Chicken Little territory is over and I'm now opting for The Little Engine that Could approach.
Whether the technological sky falls on the industry--and whether boomers continue to buy books in traditional form even as their interest in digital toys concurrently evolves--may ultimately be a matter of adaptation rather than speculation for most booksellers.
After last week's column, I heard from boomer librarian Liz Frame, who wrote, "I have definitely become more tech-savvy during the past 10 years (I used my first e-mail account in 1996). I would even guess that my personal knowledge and comfort level in technology will double within two years, based on how much I've learned and how much further I have to go. And in two more years, where will I be? Probably needing to double again within 18 months."
And Elizabeth Burton, executive editor at Zumaya Publications, noted that "this boomer had an SF novel or three on her Palm Zire when she flew to Portland last month. Tucks into the pocket of my microfiber travel blazer, weighs maybe an ounce or four. I had my EB-1150 in my carry-on, too, but the Zire was fine. In other words, given how much I read, having the e-books handy is so much nicer than hauling books around."
Adaptation.
Of all the driftwood notions that might have washed up in my mind as I flew over Long Island Sound, beginning a final descent into Albany, the curious one that did was a recollection of a gutsy thoroughbred race horse named Engine One. For a couple of years during the 1980s, I became a big fan of this decent but unspectacular horse.
Back then--and this easily falls under the category of TMI--I used to study the daily race result charts in a New York tabloid. At some point, the performance line for Engine One began attracting my attention. What appealed to me about the horse was his adaptability and work ethic.
Engine One's typical race would find him flying out of the starting gate and going immediately to the front, running his lungs out on the backstretch, increasing that lead by three, four, sometimes five lengths, then holding on desperately as the rest of the field chased him down the stretch. He might finish first or last in any given race, but I found myself loving the horse's speed and his heart. He always gave an honest day's work.
Then, a mysterious change took place. A new trainer began turning Engine One into a "closer." Instead of setting the pace for the entire race, the jockey would keep him back in the field, saving his energy for one last run from behind as they hit the top of the stretch.
I wanted to call this trainer and ask what the hell was going on? Why mess with success? Despite this substantial adjustment, however, Engine One maintained his consistency, and even moved up in class. Eventually, I made a special August pilgrimage to Saratoga Springs just to watch "my" horse run in the Forego Stakes, which he won in an upset.
Was Engine One's success a lesson in adaptability or just the natural instinct to win no matter what was asked of him? While confessing my anthropomorphic tendencies (a horseplayer's curse, I've observed), I think there was unquestionably an element of The Little Engine that Could in that horse, and I still conjure up the memory of his inspiring adaptability years after I stopped haunting race tracks.
The question I asked in January--By the year 2018, will boomers still be shopping in bricks-and-mortar bookstores or primarily online?--was speculative, not rhetorical nor even answerable. I can look out the window of my office today and see clear blue sky; whether it's falling remains to be seen.--Robert Gray (column archives available at Fresh Eyes Now)