If you are an avid reader, chances are you’ve found yourself reading in various positions. I know I have. My preferred position to read is on my bed completely horizontal (adding in a few degrees thanks to some pillows) with my twinkle lights on and completely tucked in. I try to turn on my side but the logistics never work out with the book in my hands.
So instead, I hold the book open with two hands directly above my head.
If you’ve ever had a phone fall on your face, imagine a 600 page hardcover book just coming at you at full speed crushing into your freshly washed and moisturized face. Ouch. I actually bruised my nose that way when I was in high school.
I hate hardcover books for many reasons, besides how deadly they are. They are so heavy, bulky, hard to open fully, and just overall piss me off. (Because of these qualities I do keep Cassandra Clare’s City of Bones on my makeshift nightstand just in case of an intruder.)
So let’s talk about it. Why is it that these horrendous mediums of holding such amazing literature always get promotionally shoved down our throats with every book release?
It’s science people…or rather, marketing. Novels usually get released via hardcover first purely because of finances and aesthetics. I mean according to publishers weekly, hardcover sales increased by 17.8% last year. They predict that all the ‘special edition’ versions helped boost that number. For instance, hardcover copies cost more for consumers and they take up more visual room on store shelves.
Because of these factors, paperback fiends (like myself) have to wait almost half a year to get a novel in paperback. We’re seeing this happen with Sunrise on the Reaping by Suzanne Collins. The hardcover version of the book was released back in March and they just recently promoted another “special edition” also in hardcover. The paperback is set to release in March of 2026 — a year after the novel’s initial release date.
Something similar happened when I was hunting for the fourth edition of my favorite book series The Mirror Visitor Quartet by Christelle Dabos. I could not pin down the paperback version anywhere. Every Barnes & Noble employee within a 25 mile radius of my home (I have no bookstores near me, it’s actually very sad) is sick of me begging them for information they don’t have.
It wasn’t until I stumbled upon one of their stores across the lake in Stratford-upon-Avon, Warwickshire, England (within mere steps from Shakespeare’s literal birthplace) that I found a paperback copy of this book… and guess what? I didn’t even buy it! Because of souvenirs and an extensive amount of clothes I had room for only one book. I used that singular space for Suzanne Collins’ The Ballad of the Songbirds and Snakes. Which wasn’t set to come out in paperback until August 2023. How insane it is that the only way I was able to get my hands on it months prior was because I found it in another continent? When was I in England? A month before the movie came out.
I actually did end up getting the paperback version of The Storm of Echoes (the fourth edition of The Mirror Visitor Quartet) this past Christmas, thanks to my cousin Teto. The saddest part is, after four years of wanting to get my hands on the paperback version, I had lost my motivation to read it. There, I said it. With each novel standing at approximately 500 pages, to dive back in and remember all the hard work I did to keep track of world-building is merely impossible. I’m not the same person I was in my senior year of undergrad. I don’t have as much time as she did. Maybe I’ll get to it someday.
Being a reader also comes with the misconceptions that I want the hardcover version for the aesthetics. I’m not one to disagree that they are prettier than most paperbacks, but the impracticality makes them unreadable. I do appreciate my non-reader friends getting me the much needed shelf jewelry, but that’s just what those books stay as shelf jewelry.
Reading fictitious novels is sacred to me. I meticulously select time out of my day to be able to read. Sometimes it’s the only time I get to actively choose to do something for myself. With grad school and three jobs, escaping to all of these different worlds and adventures doesn’t claim a large space in my schedule.
I prefer a paperback book because of the flexibility it gives me while reading. I also love how lightweight and portable it is. I’m able to toss a copy into my bag and read it whenever without ruining my shoulders. I also am able to read in bed super comfortably since I can maneuver the novel in any way I need to. I don’t ruin the book but the soft cover gives it this malleableness that gives me more leeway in how I choose to read. It’s amazing.
My cousin Vanessa Salcedo actually prefers hardcover books. “I think books are an investment, and I like that hardcovers are more durable,” she says. “I hate that the paint on the spine of paperbacks breaks or chips from normal usage. Hardcovers are just so much more aesthetically pleasing.”
Buying books is a major investment when stores are selling hardcovers for almost $30. The costliness of buying a physical book is also why I always get asked why I haven’t just bought a Kindle (my other enemy). Nothing’s a better hook for the Booktok community than stickers, popsockets, and releasing the device in a matcha green color. I also refrain from jumping on the Kindle train because I collect my books like trophies. It’s hard work to dive into someone else’s creative world and sometimes the ending of a book is infuriating. So as a token of me making it through, I display them on my shelves. It has always been a dream of mine to have my own private library in my forever home, so I view the purchasing of books as an investment towards a project for my future self.
I only have five shelves at home that are completely overflowing with novels from my childhood to ones that I purchased last week. Jenny Han’s To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before sits nestled next to my CVS edition of Stephanie Meyer’s New Moon that my Nino bought me back in 2009. I have sets of books that have outdated covers that can’t be found anymore. These are relics that I want to keep to show my children, even though there’s a chance they might be horrified to find out what their mother was reading at the age of eight.
Reading is not only an activity for me, but I also take it seriously as a collector. The specificity of my searches for the right cover, version, and format is what makes every book on my shelves so special. They were all hand-picked by me. In moments of my childhood where I felt like I had no control over what I wore or how my room looked, at least I was the only one who had a say in what I read and how I read it.
It was a ritual for me to go get a coffee with my Abuelita and visit our local Barnes & Noble almost every weekend. WhenPico Rivera Towne Center used to have a huge store, we would get lost in there for hours as I would translate the descriptions on the back of novels into Spanish for her. It was the last time I remember being able to share something of mine with my Abuelita.
Books hold memories, secrets, and snapshots of where you were in life when you read that novel. It is a big deal how I like to consume my literature, and for me it’s paperback or nothing. We as a collective book community should aim to foster and keep conversations like these alive. It’s our job to maintain the excitement towards reading.
Bring back reading. The children yearn for something that’s physically theirs that doesn’t injure their face.