Fahrenheit 451
The online publishing revolution is here.
      by Rachel Hyland

"Aw, Stephen King's not finishing The Plant!" "Huh."

Which brings us to Stephen King. When this Master of Horror chose to publish his novella Riding the Bullet exclusively on-line in 1999, at the merry corporate playground that is Amazon.com, it sold a well-celebrated 500,000 copies at US$2.50 a mouse click. Amazon, who had cleverly "disabled" the Print function on the novel, were somewhat perplexed that the popularity waned so quickly (though anyone who has read a "pirate" copy -- mentioning no names -- could probably answer that riddle for them). Still, the process proved that e-books, whether just as novelties or as legitimate forms of publication, are a viable option to traditional methods. Especially for an author as well known as Stephen King.

Then he went and spoiled it all by saying something stupid like "I'm not going to finish it." But, no. Let's not bring up King's flaking out on future installments of his web serial, The Plant. Actually... no, let's do bring that up, 'cause did that suck or what? King's serial debuted to a 120,000 strong reception in July on his official website, a move that circumvented traditional publishers and -- in a great, cut-out-the-middle-man kind of way -- meant that the entire serial would cost readers a whole lot less than just two parts of, oh say for instance, The Green Mile. However, King announced in the wake of the release of Part V that the serial is "temporarily" on hiatus while his other commitments are fulfilled, leaving fans -- well, the 50,000 or so fans still around for the saga -- hanging. Even for the King of suspense, this going a little too far.

The writers of Roswell would, like, do well to consult Thesaurus.com.

But though it tarnishes the lily a little, the online publishing revolution is still very real, and very not going away. The time will eventually come when books, with texture and an essence, will be nothing more than a distant memory. When museums house the collected works of the Paper Age's best authors -- H. G. Wells, Jules Verne, Lord Dunsany, Mercedes Lackey (okay, it's a perspective thing) -- and there will be no one to visit them, as we'll all be sitting at home in front of our computers, forced to read Book 22 of The Wheel of Time. (The future really is going to be a hell-world, isn't it?)

Indeed, there are those who seem to believe that the proliferation of e-books is one of the signs of the forthcoming Apocalypse (how many signs are there supposed to be, again? 'Cause it's hard to keep count of them all, these days). There are concerned citizens and groups of such who believe that e-books are merely another indicator of our decaying, disassociating society, in which personal interaction is being replaced with a fast typing speed and the use of emoticons.

Reading has always been a solitary pastime. It is only now, with such widespread use of the Net as a forum for discussion, that it is becoming more social. Message boards the Internet over host literary discussions ranging from the analytic to the lustful (what? Like you've never fallen in love with a written character?), and chatrooms allow like-minded folk to discuss the most obscure points of Eddings and Adams and that goddamned Kevin J. Anderson in real-time. (Just not necessarily using real names.)

But... those naysayers do have a point. Just how easy is it to read these e-books, anyway? After all, we all get enough eyestrain and possible radiation poisoning from our computer monitors as it is. Palm Pilots, while nifty, are tiny and often hard to read, and really... books just feel good. That satisfying conclusion to your experience, as you snap the cover shut and place it on your book shelf -- or hurl the book across the room with a fiery vengeance, as the case may be -- is somehow lacking. It's like when you get mad with someone on a mobile phone, and yet can't hang up vehemently on them, `cause you have to find the little button to press in order to end the call. It may be old fashioned, but there will always be a place in most of our hearts for books made of paper and binding, just as a good ol' rotary dial phones will never go out of style. (That last part wasn't true at all, was it?)

"You want me to read a book?"

Still, sites like Bookface.com cater for the future that is already here, providing listings to many web-publications, for Palm Pilot or PC. Publications by authors that you like, that you want to read, and that you are thrilled to be able to access long before the lengthy book tour reaches your state. Many -- indeed, most -- of these books are also available in more tangible forms, and not all are accessible to readers in all countries (it's a copyright thing... who gets that?), but for the lover of the out-of-print, the quirky or the misunderstood, the cyber-line for downloads is a long one.

The thing is, do we want to pay for these random bits of data that exist nowhere but on our C drives? And will we? Most Netizens aren't even interested in going to a website to win money (no, we don't want to try and punch the little monkey!), let alone spend money to read something that, if experience has taught us anything, will be available for free any time soon. But that's when it becomes a question of ethics, and of respect of those who provide these services.

So, we have to ask ourselves: what price downloads? And you should ask yourselves: what if The 11th Hour became a subscription-based publication? (This is all hypothetical, of course. Really.) Would you pony up your two bucks for a monthly dose of Buffy-worship, hot guy droolage, and way too many opinions?

Or would you rather wait for the paperback?

We welcome your comments on The 11th Hour and this feature. Please send letters to: letters@the11thhour.com

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