The metamorphosis of the written word: between nostalgia and digital reinvention
By Dr. Marco V.
Benavides Sánchez.
There was a time when writing was an almost ritual act. The
pen ran over the paper like a brush on a canvas, each stroke leaving an
indelible mark that contained not only words, but also the passion and effort
of the person writing them. Reading, on the other hand, was a slow exercise, a
journey in which the reader could lose themselves between the pages of a book
until they found a piece of themselves in other people's stories. Today,
however, we live in a time of transformation in which technology has revolutionized
our ways of reading and writing, filling them with possibilities, but also with
tensions.
The advent of the e-book has been one of the most notable
changes in recent history. Devices such as the Kindle have democratized access
to reading, allowing us to carry entire libraries in a bag. In a world where
physical space is a luxury, the promise of storing thousands of books on a thin
device is undoubtedly tempting. Yet this advancement raises troubling
questions: Is something essential being sacrificed by replacing the weight of
paper with the cold feel of a screen? Many nostalgic readers – like myself –
complain about the loss of the smell of a new book or the marks of use that
make volumes unique objects.
On the other hand, reading has migrated from the quiet
corners of the home to subway cars or waiting rooms. The accessibility offered
by smartphones has allowed reading to be integrated into previously unused
moments. But this migration has also fragmented the experience: instead of
diving deeply into a story, readers jump from one short article to another,
from a loose chapter to a thread on social media. Attention, once prolonged, is
now scattered in a thousand directions.
Writing has also undergone an unprecedented transformation.
Blogs and social media have democratized the possibility of being read. Today,
anyone with an internet connection can share their thoughts with a global
audience. This has allowed previously marginalized voices to find a place on
the public stage, but it has also diluted quality standards. Amid the bustle of
millions of daily posts, how do you distinguish the valuable from the trivial?
Digital self-publishing is another revolutionary phenomenon.
Authors who previously faced rejection from publishers can now publish their
works with a few clicks. However, the absence of an editorial filter can lead
to market saturation with poorly curated works, blurring the line between
literary art and mere commercial content.
A fascinating phenomenon is trans media writing, where a
story unfolds across multiple platforms: a book can be complemented by a video
game, a film, or even social media posts. This fragmentation allows for
exploring narratives from different perspectives, but also demands from the
reader a scattered attention and an effort to connect the pieces of the puzzle.
In addition, new genres have emerged that challenge
traditional categories. X (Twitter) threads, for example, turn a platform designed
for brevity into a narrative space. Even artificial intelligence has begun to
generate literature, raising ethical and aesthetic questions: can a machine
create art or does it simply imitate it?
This metamorphosis of reading and writing is fraught with
contradictions. On the one hand, we live in an age of unprecedented
democratization. Never before has it been so easy to access millions of works
or share our ideas with the world. On the other hand, this accessibility has
brought with it constant distractions. Deep reading, that almost meditative act
of losing yourself in a book for hours, seems to be in danger of extinction.
Likewise, the speed with which we consume and produce
information can lead to superficiality. The rush to publish, to be present,
often leaves aside the reflection necessary to create truly meaningful works.
In a world where everything is measured in "likes" and
"shares," what place is left for writing that does not seek immediate
approval, but aspires to endure?
The dilemma is not only practical, but also emotional. Many
of us have fond memories associated with physical books: the pleasure of
leafing through yellowing pages in a second-hand bookstore, the thrill of
discovering a dedication on a first edition. These experiences are hard to
emulate in a digital world.
Despite the criticism, there is no denying that the digital
world has broadened the horizons of reading and writing. It is now possible to
access works by authors from far-flung cultures, enriching our perspective of
the world. The personalization of the reading experience is also a notable
advance: readers can adjust the font and size, background colors, and more,
adapting texts to their specific needs.
In this complex landscape, nostalgia for traditional ways of
reading and writing should not be seen as an obstacle, but as a guide. It
reminds us that, in the midst of progress, it is essential to preserve what
makes the literary experience unique: attention, reflection, and aesthetic
enjoyment.
Perhaps the future of the written word lies not in choosing
between paper and screen, between depth and brevity, but in finding a balance.
Perhaps we can combine the best of both worlds: harnessing technology to enrich
our experience without losing sight of the intrinsic value of the
well-thought-out, well-written word. In the end, what matters is not the
medium, but the message and the impact it has on those who receive it.
Technology, like any tool, is what we make of it. If we use
it wisely, it can be a bridge to new forms of expression and understanding. But
if we forget the power of a good story told calmly, we risk losing what makes
us human: our ability to dream, imagine and share the world through words.
#Medmultilingua
