Throughout history, the book has undergone many transformations, from tablet to scroll to manuscript to the printed book. Now, thousands of years later, we have arrived full circle with an updated, digitised version of the tablet: the eBook.

Since the launch of the Amazon Kindle in 2007, the sales of digital fiction have only risen: in the first half of 2012 they rose to 188% of those in the same period last year (source: Publishing Association, 18 September 2012). Whether we like it or not, it seems that the eBook is here to stay.

For many, these statistics reflect the staggering technological advances of the digital age. We can focus on the positive changes that have arisen from the eBook: 53% of eBook owners state that they now read more than before and one-third of children say they would read more with eBooks.

I cannot subscribe to this enthusiasm. I remain opposed – emotionally, aesthetically, ideologically – to the eBook because with its rise comes the inevitable fall of the humble printed book. This year, printed book sales have only fallen by 0.4%, true, but the eBook’s popularity is clearly rooted in a preference for it over its printed alternative. Some argue that it is merely a supplementary tool for travelling or searching quotes, but ultimately for most readers the eBook is a replacement. The regular book is becoming an endangered species.

In this digital age, the transition from print to electronic is viewed as an upgrade, perpetuating the image of ‘normal’ books as musty and old-fashioned. No wonder kids don’t want to read them. This attitude suggests that the only way to make a book appealing is by making it a convenient (to use the modern-age buzzword) new gadget.

Are books going to go the same way as typewriters and record players, left for obsessed bookworms, curio-collectors or pretentious retro-lovers? Does it even matter? I wonder if in my reactionary obstinacy I fall into any of these categories. True, much of my grief comes from my childhood dream of owning a bookshop. But this is a serious concern: a whole profession is in real danger, as we have seen with the recent liquidation of Borders and the numerous closures of independent bookshops.

And surely I cannot be alone in my appreciation of the book’s beauty as a physical object. Often, the sheer weight of a massive tome – the collected works of Shakespeare I have often considered to be a highly effective murder weapon – lends it a majesty irreplaceable in the slender tablet. The creativity of artists and designers often finds wonderful expression in books, be that in cover design, pop-up illustrations or other interactive physical elements that are flattened and deadened in a digital file. I dread the day when the only place we can go to appreciate the beauty of the book is in the Natural History Museum along with all the other dinosaurs.