Unpacking books from boxes

We hear it all the time, and have done so since the invention of the internet: the book is doomed, technology will make it redundant. We have, of course, heard this for quite a while. The internet came into being in 1991 and is, therefore, approaching its twentieth birthday - yet books are still here.

True, it took Gutenberg’s invention a little longer to replace the manuscript, some fifty years, give or take a few. But then again, the printing press revolution did not enjoy the same structures that the internet has. It also faced one fewer obstacle: back in the 15th century, the mountain of published material that now competes with the internet did not exist. It took the printers very little time to turn the available manuscript texts into print. The same cannot be said of the internet: the digitalisation of books has been a slow process, fraught with copyright issues. At the current rate, it will take a few centuries before the existing printed corpus is translated into web pages.

It would appear, then, that the book will be around for some time, and that its position at the heart of learning will remain in place for the foreseeable future. This is not really a startling assertion, but it needs to be made on several fronts, has to be shouted from the rooftops in some quarters. Anyone who has marked students’ essays in the last few years cannot have escaped the tyranny that is Wikipedia - the student fall-back option when time is in short supply, or even when it is not. I know we live in a postmodern (or should that be post-postmodern?) age, and that truth is subjective in the minds of many. Academia, however, cannot live without truths, even if it is only to attack them.

It is here that the achilles heel of the internet is to be found, for its concept of truth is as flexible as that of a Westminster politician. Discernment is a key notion when trawling the web, but discernment comes only from knowledge and study; it is a vicious circle. We are, therefore, sleep-walking into a digital age of mythology, where truth is relative and knowledge degraded. Am I being too harsh? I have seen essays where Roman emperors are described as celebrities, where Vikings have more in common with Hollywood than the Oslo fjord, and where chivalry is as divorced from its Christian roots as its televised counterpart, discernment.

Discernment was shown when the new British Library was opened in 1998. When it was attacked for being too expensive and useless in a digital age, its director was rightly scornful. At its heart sits its vast collection of books, the bastion for discernment and academic debate. The computer and readers’ comforts are relegated to their rightful place: a supporting role. New – or revamped – libraries frequently cause a stir. A regular user of the National Library of Scotland, I was very happy with its new facilities at the entrance: you cannot beat a good coffee after reading some dusty tome! But, once again, the balance is right: books remain at the heart of the library.

I am less than convinced that Edinburgh University has struck the same happy balance. Somehow, books have taken a backseat, making way for endless rows of computers, presumably to make Wikipedia a little more accessible. The track record is less than confidence inspiring, anyhow. Remember the Reid Music Library, anyone? Our universities frequently rush to imitate the private sector, in the mistaken belief that all salvation comes from that quarter. Modernise - out with the old, in with the new - regardless of whether the old still served a purpose or whether the new is any better. Ironically, the private sector tends not to work this way.

Discernment. And why does this matter? Because it affects the way we study, think, and ultimately, the validity of what we say and write.