In Defence of Print Literature

With the rise of digital publications like ebooks, audio books, and digital magazines, print literature has become more and more of a lost tradition. Educational institutions are rushing to find ways to integrate digital tools into their classrooms (and to have students self-test and self-learn and self-everything) and print publications are making deals with audio book companies. Students are signing up for Amazon prime memberships instead of library cards. Newspaper readers are unsubscribing from national newspapers to scroll through the headlines and abbreviated summaries on Twitter or Instagram or even YouTube. 

And, honestly, I get it. Digital literature (or print literature forcibly turned into digital literature) is cheaper, more accessible, and portable. I like knowing that the tenth book I bought this month will be marginally cheaper if I buy it as a Kindle Edition or as a paperback but with the retailer price. I like the ease of pulling out my phone on the GO bus and resuming my story in just a few clicks. I get it; I grew up through many digital shifts and have seen how electronics truly do make life easier.

But growing up in the digital age of literature has also allowed me to see what we have given up in return. When I was six and struggling in my ESL class, my teacher told my mom to take me to the library after school. So, once a week, before her night shift, my mom and I would walk to a small library inside the mall by our house, pick up a book, and walk to the laundromat around the corner. Sitting cross-legged on the laundry cart, I would hold the book of the week in both hands and will its world to life. It didn’t come suddenly, but eventually, the weight of the book, the texture of the pages, the swish of the page turns, cemented in me a deep passion for reading. I would take books with me beyond that laundromat. Just everywhere.

I’m not sure if I could have developed that same passion for reading by reading through a screen. For one, it’s less intimate. I remember I was once reading a great story that had an unexpected tragic ending through my phone. Of course, I was a complete mess—bawling and snotty. Then I hugged my phone. My sister asked me if I was just dumped. I tried to explain, pointing at the bright screen in my hand as if that would help. 

It’s our wish as a literary journal to provide the reader with the best reading experience. This is why we work tirelessly for months to cultivate the best possible issue with our resources. We work together with our authors to fulfill the visions for their works, take care to ensure that illustrations complement their respective pieces, and check and recheck that the layout of the issue is paced comfortably and flows to tell one unified story. With the reader in mind, we hope to one day print our issues. It is the next step in enhancing the reading experience and maximizing the impact that these pieces may have on a person. 

As a publication that champions the sensuality of being—of fully enjoying our senses—and the act of building artifacts, it is only right that we strive to publish physical issues of Archetype.

While that is our goal, we admit it is a pricey one. We rely on the generosity of our readers and supporters to help us create, publish, and distribute the journal.

If you would like to help us reach our full potential, please consider supporting Archetype and become a vital part of our journey. You can buy us a Ko-Fi, or donate directly through our website.