Put another way, content is king. It will seek out the vehicle best suited to its absorption or enjoyment. Sometimes, it will occupy multiple mediums at the same time, in order to appeal to the largest audience (think of how books live happily alongside audio books, and then are turned into movies). But the endless discussion as to whether books are dead tends to conflate “books” with “text,” and thereby obscures far more than it illuminates. Books will not die, after all, unless we want them dead. They have survived the advent of radio, television, the Internet, and Nintendo. Rather, they will be challenged once again, and books’ content will find new ways to express itself more effectively.

Toward that end, using the Kindle is a sharp reminder of the limitations of printed text. Take a basic example: the size and font of a book. It makes perfect sense that large books have small text with dense letter spacing. Reducing the relative space needed for each word reduces the total pages required to house them. Large books are unwieldy, not to mention resource-intensive, and so, at a certain point, text is shrunk to keep total size in check. Small text is still hard to read, however. With the Kindle, text is manipulable. Long books no longer require a magnifying glass to read or a wagon to tote. Better yet, text can be changed to fit mood and moment. At night, I found myself increasing the size to rest my eyes. During the day, I shrunk it to pack in the content.

That advantage leads into many more. Unlike printed text, electronic text is not static, and its location is not fixed. For certain types of reading, this is a critical difference. Take two examples. Among the titles I downloaded on the Kindle were David Frum’s Comeback: Conservatism That Can Win Again and Max Brooks’s World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War. Brooks’s book is a cheeky alternative history that looks back on the fictional zombie wars that nearly wiped out humankind. David Frum’s outing is an aggressive synthesis of public-opinion data and recent political history meant to prove that the contemporary Republican Party is deeply adrift and headed for irrelevance unless it reforms itself. Both are books, of course, and both are comprised of text, but that vastly overstates their similarities. They’re better understood as radically different types of content that seek to do entirely different things, and so are suited to different mediums.

Brooks’s book attempts to entertain. Presuming the content is up to the task (and it is; zombie wars are funnier than one might imagine), it merely requires a readable method of presentation. The Kindle, here, is no better than the traditional book, and is in fact a bit worse. The Kindle’s screen, though a remarkably impressive technology, is a soft gray, and lacks the contrast of a book’s sharp, white pages. Moreover, there’s an added risk to using the Kindle: if you drop a book, it doesn’t break. If you drop your Kindle, your heart catches in your throat till you examine the damage. If you drop it in the bathtub, you’re out $400. The reading experience—in this case, enjoyment—would be better served by investing in a comfortable chair.

Frum’s book attempts to inform, and that’s an altogether different mission, one that traditional text is poorly suited to carry out. In a slightly more perfect world, the process of reading would be closer to the process of recording: we would scan words, and they would be retained, with perfect fidelity, in our neural pathways. The information would all be categorized, stored, and made available for future mental searches. A book would be virtually disposable, rendered utterly unnecessary after the first read. Sadly, our brains are more sieve than supercomputer. They absorb text much like the old child’s trick of pressing putty against newsprint: the information is initially imprinted with perfect clarity, then rapidly begins to fade, till only the faintest outline remains. There are the rare exceptions—my high school reading of The Grapes of Wrath still colors my understanding of power relations in a capitalist system—but they are too rare, and frankly, I sometimes wish I still had my notes on Steinbeck.

Ezra Klein is an associate editor at The American Prospect.