:: book bound

I was reading the latest edition of Quill & Quire whilst on the treadmill tonight, when I came across an article lamenting the death of Book Expo earlier this year.

The death of Book Expo.

I raised an eyebrow, perplexed, since I had heard nothing about Book Expo suffering until reading the article of its demise.

Then again, let's be honest here. I have never been to Book Expo, and I don't really think you can attend an event by association -- friends and acquaintances have gone in the past, and as such, I've lived vicariously through them. At the end of the day, I am slightly out of the loop.

I've yet to work in book publishing. I managed a stint in newspaper publishing, but then my contract ended and well, the paper downsized the role(s) I was in, moving it to another paper of the same family.

Despite that, I often dream of working in the industry at some point, disregarding any and all negative press that often discusses how much the industry is changing -- or, floundering, depending on who you ask.

I generally do a good job of ignoring such sentiments, but for whatever reason, reading about the death of Book Expo broke my heart. Perhaps it was the fact that it seemingly came out of nowhere (thank you disconnect!) or the fact that I had always dreamed of one day attending Book Expo for myself, whatever the reason, I read the article sadly, feeling for the first time as if I was watching the industry wash away.

Sure, it all ended on a high note. The conclusion of an event that really wasn't doing much for anyone anymore has instead spawned a sea of revival ideas and localized groups. Book Camp experienced a site meltdown because so many people logged on to register. Despite the death of a giant, the fiery passion of the small still burns beneath.

And yet, despite those flames, every now and again, when news like this manages to crack through my stubborn mind, I wonder, what if they're wrong? What if the industry is on the graveyard track? What if digital one day kills print? What if we're all just fooling ourselves because we're pathetically in love with ink stained paper?

What if?