It was 75 years ago this month that those immortal words (or a similar phrase) were uttered by Rhett Butler in Margaret Mitchell’s lengthy antebellum romance, Gone with the Wind. Given that the book is set in the Deep South, her title is pretty close to the mark.
They are still working just to get started with the cleanup from the wind damage from the tornado-packing thunderstorms that raked the southern US. Tara, Scarlett O’Hara’s plantation home will have survived, along with Mitchell’s book title, which has become one of the post-twister phrases painted on rubble where homes used to be located.
For the 60th anniversary of the book’s release, publishers whipped up a fancy hardback edition as a commemorative item. Now, on the 75th year after the debut, stores can offer a paperback printed for the occasion – or that commemorative digital download with special gold-flecked text that glimmers in direct sunlight.
I’m kidding about that part.
It is obvious that the big sellers care more about the new electronic books than the standard, don’t-ever-need-a-battery type. With the exception of James Patterson, a suspense novelist who cranks out a new title every forty minutes, there are no television ads for published works. Even the Kindle and Nook don’t advertise titles, just devices.
Barnes and Noble never had a commercial before. Now, they’re talking about how the book lives on, or some other marketing phrase. Ironically, the ads will eventually contribute to the death of the book as we know it.
It’s a matter of time before the paper and ink items will become as curious and collectible as 45rpm vinyl records or as obscure as eight-track music tape cartridges (already most of you don’t recall those…).
I’m asked my opinion about whether the Kindle and the Nook will catch on, and – saluting Margaret Mitchell on the anniversary of her life’s work – I reply, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a…”