26 February 2010 FOOD FOR THOUGHT A culture of reading By JUSTICE MALALA

For two months now my lovely wife has been a tad worried that I may be doing a Zuma. Yes, she thinks I am contemplating taking a second wife. Of course, that is just so no-no for me despite the fact that this practice is allegedly part of my culture. As someone pointed out, it is as much part of my culture as a Breitling watch is to Julius Malema's. No matter. My partner's unhappiness stems from the fact that she bought me a Kindle for Christmas and I have not used it. Now, I know that reading is not part of the culture pursued or defended by my friends JZ and old millionaire Julius so let me explain what a Kindle is. It is Amazon's electronic reading device. Instead of running around with 1 000-page tomes like my last read, it is all on this gorgeous, slim tablet or pad that weighs nothing and can be taken anywhere. Yes, dear reader, you see where I am going with this. I am a book guy, and I am a bookstore guy. I mean, except for Malema, who isn't? One of the greatest pleasures of my life is the Exclusive Books winter and summer book sales. If you can get to one of the bigger Exclusive Books branches, this is a simply orgasmic experience. This year, running through the Rosebank Mall branch, I managed to grab two books that I am already devouring like a fiend. I was proud to pick up the much-lauded The Believers by Zoë Heller, which I have wanted to read for ages, at a mere R60. A new copy retails at many times that. What a bargain for a book regarded as a minor modern classic. What is so special about the experience of the bookshop and of the book sale is the seeing, touching, picking up and putting back the book on the shelf. It is called browsing. I can spend hours in a bookshop, browsing, remembering books and lines I have read and discovering new ones. Which is why for two months I have had this love-hate relationship with my Kindle. There is no doubt that it is a work of wonder: so slim, so user-friendly, so alluring. But I could not use it. Last week, lying in bed after being unexpectedly felled by a vicious throat infection, I rushed through the last book I had picked up at the Exclusive Books sale: Walter Mosley's The Man in My Basement. It is not his best, but entertaining enough for a man chained to his bed. I finished it rather quickly, and was at a loss for reading material. And so I pulled out the Kindle, and browsed a bit. Then I remembered how, as a youngster, I had spent my teenage years searching for a James Hadley Chase thriller called No Orchids for Miss Blandish. I never managed to find it, and I outgrew that stuff anyway. So I entered the title in the Kindle, and there it was. Let me make you understand. By the time I was 17 I had about 200 thrillers in a suitcase my mother had given me. Yet the one book I had not managed to trade, steal or buy was this one: the 1939 debut thriller by a man who had churned out so many forgettable potboilers. As a child, it was the one book I wanted with a fierce hunger, not for knowledge, but for the sheer enjoyment. It took me three seconds to buy it and have it delivered to my Kindle. Then I was happy and sad at the same time. Happy that technology had managed to bring this much sought-after childhood memory so swiftly to me. Sad that, after all that seeking and dreaming, this was all it was: three seconds to get it. It was cheap, too, a mere US$2,99. Announcing an extension to its book sale, the Exclusive Books website said: "It's the last few days of our sale and we're clearing our remaining Summer Sale book bargains at half the marked sale price. It is time to take another look at our sale tables - and remember, you can still earn Fanatics points on these crazy low prices!" Summer book sale 6980 Exclusive Books, All branches Tel: (011) 798-0000 Mandela Excellent Good Zuma Malema I am in a total panic here. I love the Kindle. I love reading on it and using it is so intuitive, so easy, that I know that I am a convert after only one book. Yet, yet... I hanker for the browsing, the joy of finding a gem in the book sale. Is this the end of bookshops as we know them? Just in case it is - and I hope not - you'd better rush out and enjoy the sale. You never know, it could soon go the way of the dinosaurs.