An open letter to people who fear the book will die

I read recently the line that "the novel needs to find its niche in the entertainment ecosystem." This baffled me, because the novel still IS the "entertainment ecosystem."

Story-telling dies only with the end of humanity. Someone suggested a video game form of the novel, which while frightening, is actually benign. Because these types of media evolutions are often merely revolutions of the artistic cycle.

It amazes me how we, as consumers, carousel. We watch reality TV, reject fiction, then complain that the reality has become unfulfilling. So, producers fabricate to suit our needs. We recognize the "reality" as superficial. We predict that the "characters" and "situations" (do not read as "The Situation," fist-pumping, beat beating 15 minute mega-star and fellow Jerseyian), are fabricated, but we fail to recognize that by consuming it anyway, often happily, we return to fiction. Welcome home American TV Viewer. Now watch Lost.

Just as boredom will reer its ugly head above the crest of unplayed Wii games and unopened Netflix enevelopes, so too will the American public ultimately return to stories over e-mail and Twitter during down-time. I have 800 Facebook friends, and they all bore me. Never in our history has an ex-boy/girlfriend held such little intrigue. What happens when the magic's gone. We'll turn to stories, and the best ones will be found in literature.

As sure as my boys, poised on a mountain top of freshly-purchased toys, will return to simply punching one another...so too will story-telling, our most primitive artform, remain as humanity's most instinctive choice. When things get too rough, I just separate the boys, sit them down and read them a story. I use a book