To Kobo or Not to Kobo?

First off, I'll admit that I wasn't really aware of eReaders before I started taking publishing courses in May. I had some rough idea that eBook readers were gaining popularity, but that was about the full extent of my knowledge. In the past three months since then I have been inundated with information about not just the Kobo but the whole eBook movement. My classmates and I have received a wide range of opinions about the future of eBooks and the various readers currently on the market. Given that no one in my class seemed really pro-eBooks, and that our instructors seemed to be on the fence, and that Amazon was still slashing prices of the Kindle to gain market share, it seemed that eBooks had not yet reached their zenith.

And then today marching down my Twitter feed was a Wall Street Journal article about Amazon CEO Jeff Bezos' claim that Amazon's eBook sales outpaced hardcovers. Now the article was quick to state that Amazon never released hard numbers; only the relationship between e- and paper-book sales were given. Even if the numbers released (or really, not released) turn out to be off, it is getting increasingly harder to ignore the presence of eBooks. Bezos may be wrong in stating that eBooks have reached their tipping point, but they do seem to have established themselves as a strong player in the book market.

Anecdotally, I have seen more and more people using them on the subway. With the iPad and iBookstore the formatting options have been greatly expanded, as well as the number of consumers with eBook capable devices. But this concise summary in itself exposes the major dilemma facing any consumers considering investing in an eBook reader: which one? Although any purchase involves a certain amount of comparison, the problem with eBook readers is how proprietary they are. Put simple, a Kindle is designed to only read eBooks purchased from Amazon, and Amazon eBooks are only meant to be read on a Kindle. While there is talk of removing these restrictions, who knows if and when that will happen and exactly what form the changes will take. So then the consumer doesn't just have to choose between the merits of the individual reader, but also decide which store to purchase all eBooks from in the foreseeable future.

Personally this is probably the biggest reason why I wouldn't even consider an eBook reader now. The market is still in flux, and until there is some semblance of consistency, I don't feel like locking myself into a technology that might be obsolete in a year (just think of all those suckers who bought HD-DVD players just before Blu-ray won out).

The other thing holding me back is that eBook readers are still a work in progress. One teacher wisely said "an eBook is not a book." This might sound simple, but it is something that is very important to keep in mind. Reading a paper book is a certain type of experience, and reading from an electronic device of any kind is not, and never will be, the same. That isn't to say it is either better or worse, it is just to say that it is different. And right now the market is trying to determine what the best form of this "different" experience is, be it the text-only e-ink Kindle, or the interactive graphics-enabled iPad, or something new that isn't even in development yet. Until these problems are solved, no clear standard will be established, and the full potential of eBooks can't be realized as each company focuses all their time and money on simply one-upping their competitor.

But there are two things I am sure of: eBooks have taken a foothold in the book market and once their potential is realized, they will be a viable and beneficial option for consumers. What that potential ends up being, is still anyone's game. But if this video is any indication, the future is friendly.

How not to take the train...

For those of us with limited means, but an insatiable travel hunger, nothing is more effective than the quintessential European backpack tour. You buy a sturdy backpack, purchase an expensive plane ticket, scour the internet for the cheapest hostel that isn't bug-infested, stock up on memory cards, and hope for the best. The only missing element is how to get from city A to city B without blowing your budget or wasting your time abroad staring at wind-farm fields.

Although Europe has a plethora of cheap airfare options, as I discovered a couple of years ago this really only helps if you are going to and from somewhere these carriers fly. Since Ryan Air and the like missed the collapse of the Iron Curtain, anything east of Italy might as well be on Mars. (Interestingly enough, RailEurope suffers from a similar memory lapse.) Which means if you are, say, trying to get from Istanbul to Budapest, your options for cheap and practical travel are scant.

Enter the train. Everyone seems to have this glamorous impression of European train travel: delicious food, alcoholic beverages, convenience, and speed. While this is certainly the case along the popular, high-speed lines (especially when traveling in first class), just like everything else in the world, not all trains are created equally. I had traveled by rail in Western Europe before, and had already seen the disparity between various trains. While they might run on time in Italy, but they aren't plush. I realized that Eastern European trains were apt to be even more rustic, but I was still unprepared for the journey I had in store.

First off, even on the nicest train, the trek from Istanbul to Budapest is not ideal. It might have been wonderful in the days of the Orient Express, but the journey now is nothing like its 20th century counterpart. Potential passengers are required to either change trains in Sofia or Bucharest, and since the schedules from the various countries are not as well integrated as in the west, you need an advanced degree in patience and train-ology to figure out the timing. The most amazing resource I came across (and the only reason that this trip was even possible) was the website The Man in Seat 61. With his help, I had figured out that we would overnight from Istanbul to Sofia, spend the day in Sofia, and then overnight to Budapest. It would take a long time, but at least we would get to see some of Bulgaria on the way.

And then everything went wrong. Problem number one was that we were traveling across borders that are actually real (unlike within EU countries). This meant a nice wake-up call around 2am to get off the train at the edge of Turkey, get a stamp on our passports saying we were leaving, and then shuffle back to our compartment. Once we crossed over into Bulgaria, we were woken up again, questioned, and stamped by Bulgarian border police (but at least we didn't have to get out of bed). After that the haggard nature of the train became increasingly apparent as the wheels screeched against the rails every slight turn. As the morning arose, I was glad for leg one to be over, and to enjoy the day exploring a city so far into the former Eastern Bloc.

Now, since Eastern European trains have not caught up to the 21st century, you can't book tickets online, but only at the station you intend to travel from. This meant that while I had worked the schedules out in advance, we still needed to line-up to secure our couchette for the second leg. And here came unpleasant surprise number two: there is no overnight train to Budapest (I'm looking at you EuroRail schedule). We basically needed to get back on a train an hour after we had just gotten off, and were going to arrive in Budapest at the lovely hour of 3am. Having not had any breakfast yet, we scoured the station for food, but only managed to discover McDonald's muffins and cold hotdogs. But, since hungry beggars can't be choosers, we ate up, and bought extra supplies for lunch and dinner since our train to Budapest was sans a food compartment.

There is nothing like being stuck in a small train compartment after eating food that disagrees with your digestive system (I knew hotdogs were hot for a reason!), especially when the door is broken and can't be kept open. Not to mention the lack of toilet paper in the washroom (yes, they mean it when they tell you to bring your own). What else could go wrong you might ask? Running low on water, being surprised by certain unexpected womanly functions, and getting struck with an acute case of homesickness. The third was probably a result of all the previous hiccups, but that didn't make it less onerous.

Sadly, we were still not out of the rapids. Instead of getting us to Budapest at 3am, our train decide to stop in Belgrade for nine hours in the middle of the night. Not only did this delay our arrival, and consequent freedom, but it meant that we got to endure the thrill of being yelled at by sketchy Serbians wanting us to let them on the train, and experience first hand how to ration out scant food, water, and hygiene supplies. After traveling slower than a TTC streetcar in rush hour, we finally arrived in Budapest at 3pm. A mere 12 hours--stuck in a cramped, stinky compartment--later than anticipated.

The moral of the story: don't do it. Both Istanbul and Budapest are fabulous cities, and you should definitely visit them. But don't travel between them by rail. Don't take the train in Eastern Europe unless the trip is shorter than the time you normally spend between meals. Fly. If you can't fly, then drive. If you can't drive, then by all means, visit some other cities. Europe has lots of them. It might seem exciting while you're planning everything, and make for a good story after, but so does skinny dipping in the Amazon River. Sometimes, the means are so unpleasant that no end could justify them.

Livin' La Vida Barcelona

Who wouldn't want to go to Barcelona? What other city has the prefect combination of great food, refreshing drinks, art, architecture, beaches, and history? More than any other European city I have visited, Barcelona offers its visitors a little bit of everything, and is sure to please even the most reluctant traveler. Lovers of art and architecture can visit the unfinished Sagra Familia or the Picasso Art Museum, or take a stroll in Guell Park. Those who are more interested in the convivial lifestyle can flock to the beautiful beaches close to the heart of the city, or partake in Barcelona's exciting night life. Food aficionados have no shortage of restaurants serving tapas, paella, and of course, sangria. The only quintessential element of Spanish culture missing is the running of the bulls.

Despite its abundance of Spanish cultural icons, Barcelona is decidedly un-Spanish. Once the capital of the Kingdom of Catalonia (historically one of four kingdom's that comprised the country we now call Spain), Barcelona has fought hard to preserve its unique cultural and independent rights. If you follow the news closely enough, it seems that there is always a protest occurring to legally keep modern Catalonia from losing its special status. Currently, Catalonia is considered a historical nationality with a right to autonomy. The most obvious manifestation of this? The official language (and the one spoken by locals) in Barcelona is not Spanish--its Catalan. Although there are numerous similarities, Catalan is still distinct from Spanish, much as Barcelona is still culturally distinct from Spain.

This very balance has arguably made Barcelona the great city that it is today. In an effort to preserve its unique culture and defend against an influx of Spanish customs, Barcelona has a plethora of well-maintained historical districts, ranging from the Middle Ages to the time of Franco. In an effort to promote culture, it has some of the most intriguing buildings, such as the Sagrada Familia by Gaudi. But the best element of Barcelona is its unique elan. Unlike stuffy Paris, Barcelona is a city that knows how to let go, and is comfortable in its own skin. It has the confidence of a world class city, but the love for and expression of life that comes from not stressing about keeping up a facade of superiority. After all, Barcelona knows that it has it all, and isn't trying to be anything other than what it is: a sparkling Catalan jewel in a Spanish crown.

The Fabrication of Public Image

It took two years but I finally got around to reading The Fabrication of Louis XIV by Peter Burke over the past week. My only regret is that I hadn't read it sooner. Like before I wrote my thesis sooner. Burke's monograph is a wonderfully written, engaging, and informative account of the fabricated publicity of Louis XIV. To a large extent, it covers similar themes as my thesis, but with a focus on Louis' French court as opposed to the Spanish court of Philip IV. The final chapter even contains a section that specifically mentions the influence Philip's court had its French counterpart.

Aside from justifying some of the claims in my thesis, it also provides new insight into those areas space restrictions prevented me from exploring in depth. The most memorable of which was something which even Burke only discussed briefly, but eloquently penned: "One might therefore speak of a 'war of images,' or of art as the continuation of war by other means." Spoken in reference to the artistic arms race that occurred throughout Renaissance and Early Modern Europe, this one sentence concisely sums up one of the principle reasons behind each monarch's continual effort to out-shine each other. Although Burke only briefly discusses it, this concept is still at play in the publicity and propaganda campaigns of modern, democratic leaders.

A few months ago I watched a great documentary series on CBC called Love, Hate and Propaganda. Through six installments, it analyzed the various forms of propaganda employed by both the Allies and the Axis, as well as the various groups each side targeted. Aside from motivating their own troops and vilifying the enemy, both sides also utilized propaganda in an effort to intimidate their opponent. More recently, we have seen footage of ICBM tests performed by North Korea, and videos of Osama bin Laden denouncing the West and proclaiming the impending dominance of Islam and Al-Queda. Nothing could better exemplify a modern interpretation of Burke's quotation.

On the other side of the coin, the world is rife with modern examples of the more positive publicity Louis XIV fabricated. Anyone who has ever followed a political campaign has seen examples of crafted press ranging from George Bush's "Mission Accomplished" fabrication, Steven Harper's sweater ads, or the more recent G20 photo-op bonanza. All of these echo artistic campaigns launched by Louis and his ministers: the exaggeration of military successes in the war of War of the Spanish Succession, the donning of symbolic regalia in state portraits to emphasize dynasty and legitimacy, and the various media that demonstrate Louis visits to the Academies and Gobelins factory. Although there is insufficient evidence to precisely determine the ultimate reception of Louis' message, any current campaign or PR manager for a politician is unlikely to question the importance of modern propaganda.

In the end, in my opinion, it doesn't really matter whether or not Louis XIV's artistic endeavors influenced contemporary Europeans. What matters is that its usefulness was so highly regarded that every major leader undertook similar artistic programs, and that art as propaganda is a practice deemed so politically integral that it has continued down to this day. For even though the specific form has changed, the same principles and methods are, if anything, more prevalent today than in Louis' time. What does this ultimately boil down to? Another example of the importance of historical study. While knowing the origins of modern publicity might not save lives, it can certainly help us to understand the intricacies of modern political imagery. Perhaps this understanding will help us to delve beyond the headlines and see past the picture of the handshake. Perhaps we might even begin to question why our leaders deem it so necessary to live behind a cloak of deception.

A Canadian in Flanders

Ever since taking history in high school, I have always been interested in touring the WWI trenches that serpentine through Europe's lowlands.  On my most recent trip--third time's a charm!--the scheduling finally worked out to fit in a 3 day jaunt to Flanders. Although there are numerous historic towns and battle sites to visit, I ultimately decided on Ypres and a tour of the city's north salient with Flanders Battlefield Tours.

After swapping trains in the picturesque Lille, we arrived in Ypres to an overcast sky and a light drizzle. As much as I hate the rain, it was very fitting for the day ahead. Our first stop was the In Flanders Fields Museum, located in the restored Ypres Cloth Hall. As an experienced European museum goer, I don't lightly say that this is the best one I have seen. It had appropriate information, excellent artifacts, great interactive features, and most importantly, you got a true sense of what life in the war was like. By the end of it I was moved. Despite the horrors presented, the most memorable and chilling part of the exhibit was the concluding room: writing on the wall which listed the number of conflicts that have occurred since "the war to end all wars." Nothing puts WWI into the greater perspective more than the realization that similar atrocities are being committed around the world on a daily basis.

Our guided tour certainly maintained the somber pace of the day. Our first stop was Essex farm, most famously remembered as the site where John McCrae wrote "In Flanders' Fields." Other notable features include triage bunkers, and a Commonwealth cemetery. Next we went to see Langemark, one of the few remaining German cemeteries on Belgian soil. Distinct from its Ally counterparts, Langemark does not attempt to glorify the deeds of its inhabitants. The most shocking aspect is the mass grave in the centre, which contains all the unknown soldiers, buried on top of one another due to space limitations. The last cemetery we visited was the biggest in the region: Tyne Cot. Unlike the first two burial grounds, Tyne Cot is astonishingly large, stretching so far that the tombstones along the boundaries look like mere pebbles in the field. It was impossible to walk away from here without some sense of dread, and yet, those interred here represented only a fraction of the total casualties in the war.

Before the end of our tour, we quickly visited the Canadian Memorial at Vancouver Corner, and a small museum put together by historically inclined farm owners on the site of Hill 62. Part of the Hill 62 museum is the trenches that wind along the top of the hill. The whole area reeks of misery; stacks of shell casing, bomb blast craters, and flooded, narrow trenches are present at every turn. Yet despite the physical trauma that this land underwent, the forests have regrown around the scars, and ecological life has continued almost as if those four years never happened.

The same feeling lingers in all of the sites we visited--the trees have returned, the grass had resprouted, and in short, life goes on. This natural pattern echoes the rebuilding of the town of Ypres. After being completely destroyed in the war, the entire town was rebuilt according to the plans that were safely hidden throughout the conflict. To this day, the buildings look as if straight out of medieval Belgium, but in fact, they too have been reconstructed out of the ashes of war. I was left with a sense of appreciation for both humanity's and nature's inherent drive to life.

By the time we were finished, and thus ready to re-enter the town of Ypres and 21st century life, the rain had symbolically stopped. We were able to escape to modern conveniences and sanitation, and to a life without the threat of bombs and bayonets. And for this luxury, I give my thanks to the men (and women) who risked, and continue to risk, their lives on my behalf. I certainly wish there were less wars in this world, and don't always agree with Canada's involvement in other people's conflicts, but what I do know is that regardless of whether the cause is worthy or not, I am truly grateful that I am not the one looking down the enemy's barrel. If nothing else, I left Flanders with a profound sense of Canadian pride, a stronger desire for peace, and a belief in our ability to rise from the ashes of our own mistakes.