I am a gadget enthusiast.
This might sound a bit like a humble brag, but it’s true. When it comes to buying the newest rather than sticking with the old, I follow this principle more faithfully than any of my actual life principles. Gaming consoles, digital cameras, robot toys, all sorts of niche digital products you’ve heard of or never heard of. I don’t necessarily buy them all, but I definitely follow them all. I don’t necessarily use them all, but I definitely want them all.
Especially gaming consoles. Nintendo’s NDS, 3DS, Switch, Sony’s PSP, PSV, and the PS5. My handheld collection could basically string together a chronicle of portable gaming devices over the past two decades. Now, every time a new console is released, I immediately dive into comparisons and reviews, agonize over color options, then spend three days wrestling with whether to buy it or not. I always end up buying it.
I know I’m someone who lacks resistance to new things, and I happen to have been born in an era where electronics evolve by the day. Maybe I can’t stay loyal to one brand or one system for long, but fortunately this industry doesn’t need my loyalty. It just needs my money.
And I have indeed been paying up.
My mom and my grandma know this all too well.
They jokingly call themselves my e-waste recycling station. My old computers end up with my parents, my old tablets, phones, and e-readers make their way to my grandma. In a sense, I’ve single-handedly driven the electronics upgrade of my entire family. Of course, to be precise, it’s my parents’ money that has driven this upgrade. I’m just responsible for spending it.
I hesitated a bit writing this, because saying things like this does make me sound rather punchable. But I thought about it, and punchable is punchable. It’s not like this is my first time being punchable.
And e-ink screens are the category in my long march through electronics where I’ve invested considerable enthusiasm, considerable money, and harvested considerably complicated emotions.
My connection with e-ink screens goes back ten years.
Back then, Kindle had just become popular in China, and e-readers were still a novelty. I bought my first Kindle. The screen was clean and bright, and though page turns were a bit slow, that paper-like quality made me feel like I was touching the future. I was convinced that the era of physical books was coming to an end, that electronic reading was the destiny of human civilization.
Young people, you know. Always so ready to believe in something.
That Kindle followed me everywhere, from undergrad to grad school, from China to abroad. It became one of the few electronic devices that stayed by my side.
Ten years later, e-ink technology should have advanced by leaps and bounds, right? That’s what I expected. So this year when Kindle released the 2025 Scribe, I bought both the color Colorsoft and the black-and-white version.
Yes, both. That’s just who I am.
When they arrived, I was genuinely impressed. Page turns were really fast, so fast I wondered if this was still e-ink. That maddening lag was almost gone. The writing fluidity exceeded expectations too. As a note-taking tool, Scribe delivered on its promises.
But the screen itself disappointed me.
How do I put this. Current e-ink screens are gray.
I mean the background color. The Kaleido 3 color e-ink screen has a background so dark it looks like window paper on a cloudy evening. I bought an e-ink device for that eye-friendly reading experience under natural light, but with this screen in natural light, I have to hold the book right up to my face to see the content clearly. After one chapter, my eyes are more strained than after two hours of scrolling on my phone.
Turn on the backlight and the world becomes clear, but my original reason for buying it becomes blurry. What I wanted was to read without needing a backlight. What it gave me was no reading without the backlight.
Surely the black-and-white one would be better?
I opened the Kindle Scribe with the latest Carta 1300 screen, full of hope. Also gray. The contrast is indeed better than before, the clarity is indeed higher, but that gray background just wouldn’t let me ignore it.
I dug out my ten-year-old Kindle for comparison and found that the old Kindle’s screen was actually whiter and brighter. Ten years have passed, technology has iterated through several generations, screen names have gone from Pearl to Carta to Carta 1200 to Carta 1300, the numbers keep getting bigger, but that most basic sense of whiteness has actually regressed.
I’ve actually used quite a few e-ink devices. Besides Kindle, there’s Boox from Onyx, BigMe from Dawo, Huawei’s e-ink tablet. Every time I bought one I thought this time there should be progress, and every time after using it I felt like something was still missing.
What was missing?
The core of the problem is actually simple. E-ink wants to simulate paper, but it’s always just simulating.
It simulates paper’s lack of backlight, simulates paper’s low stimulation, but simulation is ultimately simulation. E-ink gives me a visual experience close to paper, but it can’t give me paper itself.
And what is paper itself?
It’s that definite sensation when you turn a page.
Paper sliding past your fingertips has a subtle roughness and resistance. Every page turn is a small physical interaction. Turning pages on e-ink is clicking or swiping, your finger always touching the same cold glass screen. Turning to page one feels exactly like turning to page one hundred.
It’s that sense of life when the spine bends.
A brand new book has a stiff spine. You have to carefully pry it open, hear those soft cracking sounds, before the pages will obediently lie flat. A half-read book, the spine remembers where you stopped, naturally bending into a curve at that spot. A finished book has its spine covered in fine creases, all the evidence of your time together.
It’s the smell.
This might sound a bit weird, but I really do like smelling books. New books have their ink fragrance, that crisp, slightly chemical scent that makes you want to read something the moment you smell it. Old books have their aged aroma, mixed with dust and time, sometimes you can even smell the previous owner’s lifestyle. I have a few books from used bookstores with faint tobacco traces between the pages. I still don’t know who left them there, but every time I open those books I feel like I’m sharing them with a stranger. E-ink has no smell. It can store ten thousand books, but all ten thousand smell the same: plastic and electronic components.
It’s the weight.
Holding a physical book, the weight distribution between your left and right hands is different. When you start reading, your right hand is heavy, your left hand light. Halfway through, both sides are about equal. Near the end, your left hand gets heavier, your right hand lighter. This transfer of weight is tangible progress feedback. Your body knows how much you’ve read, how much remains. E-ink always weighs the same. You can only confirm your progress through that tiny percentage at the bottom of the screen, an abstract number that has nothing to do with your body.
It’s the sense of space.
When you finish a book, you can stand it on your shelf. Some afternoon later, passing by, your eyes sweep across the title on the spine, and you remember your state of mind when you read it, what the weather was like outside the window, what drink you had beside you. A bookshelf is the physical archive of a person’s reading history. Every book occupies a real position, reminding you it once came into your life.
Writing all this, I suddenly realize I’m like those people online who rant about their exes. Hundreds of words, itemized grievances, catalogued with precision, as if wanting to nail every single offense to a pillar of shame. But there’s nothing I can do about it. These are genuinely things e-ink can’t give me.
Reading has always been an experience of sensory participation. Eyes reading, fingers turning, nose smelling, the whole body immersed in dialogue with a physical existence. E-ink can transmit information to you, but what it transmits is only information. Those things attached to paper that can’t be digitized, it simply cannot provide.
So after buying this round of new e-ink products, I made a decision that sounds very anti-technology, anti-progress. I’m going back to physical books.
This decision surprised even myself. After all, I’m the one who chases the cutting edge of technology, the one who once declared with conviction that I would only read e-books from now on. Ten years ago when I bought my first Kindle, I genuinely believed physical books would become collector’s items for the sentimental few.
Ten years later, the slap in my own face rang out loud and clear.
Physical books are doing just fine. And I, after trying so many e-reading devices, have ultimately returned to their side.
You might ask, so what’s actually wrong with e-ink screens?
Nothing major, really. This year’s new products are fast enough, feature-complete, great for notes and annotations. If you’re a heavy e-book user, if you travel often and need to carry many books, if you’re not sensitive to that slight grayness of the screen, e-ink is still a great choice.
But for me, that gray background is a hurdle I can’t get over.
I admit this is a very personal, even somewhat pretentious fixation. But I have no intention of changing it. In this one life, you have to allow yourself to be pretentious about a few things.
And I later figured something out. It takes me a long time to read a book. I like to read slowly, like to pause at certain passages to think, to take notes. With this reading style, one book can keep me company for a month or two, sometimes longer.
For all that time, I only need one book.
One book, a few dozen yuan, can give me one or two months of companionship. It sits quietly on my nightstand, waiting for me to open it when I think of it, to close it when I don’t want to read. Left open, it won’t auto-sleep, and I don’t have to worry about battery.
You say it takes up space? At my reading speed, I won’t accumulate that many books in a lifetime. You say it costs money? The price of one e-ink device could buy me dozens of books, and I’ve bought so many devices.
Adding it up, the money I’ve spent on e-ink screens could probably keep me reading into my next life.
After doing this math, I found it rather funny myself. Someone who claims to love reading, spending far more on reading devices than on books themselves. This is probably the fate of gadget enthusiasts. We’re always chasing a better vessel, forgetting that what’s inside the vessel is what truly matters.
So where have all my e-ink screens gone now?
Most of them are at my grandma’s.
My grandma is almost eighty this year. At her venerable age, you’d think she’d be watching opera and tending flowers, but she happens to be passionate about romance novels and all kinds of melodramatic soap operas. I downloaded her e-ink device full of romance novels, and she reads more diligently than I ever did. She doesn’t talk much usually, but occasionally I hear her murmuring to herself, “How could this person be like this,” or, “Oh, this silly girl.” Then I know she’s immersed in some story again.
An eighty-year-old woman, reading love stories about twenty-year-old girls, reading with fascination, reading with sighs. Sometimes I find this rather moving in itself. As if some things can transcend age, as if the human craving for stories never fades throughout a lifetime.
Of course, it might also just be because melodrama truly is something that appeals to all ages.
For her, the e-ink screen is a vast library. The novels I’ve downloaded are enough to last her until ninety. She has no feelings about whether the screen is gray or not. What she cares about is that the font is big enough, page turning is convenient, and there’s a new chapter waiting for her.
From this angle, the e-ink screens I bought have found their place after all. They failed to complete their mission of making me love electronic reading, but at my grandma’s, they’re shining bright.
My digital legacy has found its heir ahead of schedule.
Having written this far, I think I should answer the original question. Why, after using so many e-ink products, did I ultimately choose physical reading?
The answer is actually simple, and very personal. Because for me, reading is a sensory experience, and the sensory experience that physical books provide is something e-ink cannot replace.
This answer might disappoint technology optimists. They’ll say technology is progressing, that someday e-ink will be exactly like paper, or even better than paper. Maybe. Maybe in ten or twenty years, there will be an entirely new display technology that truly achieves all the textures of paper while having all the conveniences of electronic devices. When that time comes, I might be moved again, might embrace electronic reading once more.
But that’s a matter for the future.
For now, I choose physical books. I choose the rustling sound of turning pages, the feel of paper against my fingertips, that small ritual of placing a finished book on the shelf. I choose to let one book accompany me for a month or two, slowly, bit by bit, entering a world an author has built.
This choice might seem backward, might not fit the persona of a gadget enthusiast. But people are inherently contradictory. I can chase the latest gaming consoles while being old-fashioned about reading. I can love technology while admitting technology hasn’t done well enough in certain areas.
After all, what I’ve always pursued is good, not merely new. If the new thing is better, I embrace the new. If the old thing is still better, I stay with the old.
When it comes to reading, physical books are still better.
At least for me.
One last small thing.
A few days ago while cleaning my room, I dug out that ten-year-old Kindle again. Its case was already somewhat worn, edges showing traces of use. I charged it up, the screen still lit, still that clean, pure white. So familiar.
I thought of myself ten years ago when I bought it, thought of all the expectations and imaginations I had for electronic reading back then. That version of me would never have guessed that ten years later, I would set it down and pick up physical books again.
But I don’t feel regret.
This Kindle accompanied me for ten years. It completed its mission. It let me experience electronic reading, let me know what e-ink screens were like, and ultimately let me confirm what kind of reading I truly want.
It was a companion for one leg of the journey, and every journey has its end.
I put the old Kindle back in the drawer, picked up the book on my nightstand, turned to the page with the bookmark.
Ten years ago I thought I would become a complete electronic reader. Ten years later I sit here with a physical book in hand, dozens more on my shelf waiting for me to slowly finish.
Many things in life are probably like this. You think you’re heading in one direction, but as you walk, you find yourself back at the starting point. Yet this starting point isn’t quite the same as when you set out, because you’ve gone around in a big circle and finally confirmed what you truly want.
What I want is paper.
That’s all.
Chinese Version:
墨水屏是我的电子遗产
我是个电子迷。
这话说出来可能有点凡尔赛，但确实如此。在”买新不买旧”这件事上，我贯彻得比我的人生信条还要坚定。游戏掌机、数码相机、机器人玩具、各种你听说过或听都没听说过的小众数码产品，我不一定都买，但我一定都关注，我不一定都用，但我一定都想要。
尤其是游戏掌机。任天堂的NDS、3DS、Switch，索尼的PSP、PSV，再到PS5，我的掌机收藏史基本可以串起一部近二十年的便携游戏设备编年史。现在，每次新机发布，我都会第一时间对比测评、纠结配色，然后在要不要买这个问题上挣扎三天，最后还是买了。
我深知自己是个对新鲜事物缺乏抵抗力的人，又碰巧生在了一个电子产品日新月异的时代。也许我没法在一个品牌、一个系统上长久地忠诚，幸好这个行业也不需要我忠诚。它只需要我付钱。
而我确实一直在付钱。
我妈和我外婆对此深有体会。
她们戏称自己是我的电子垃圾回收站。我的旧电脑流转到我爸妈手里，我的旧平板、旧手机、旧墨水屏辗转到我外婆那里。从某种意义上来说，我一个人拉动了整个家族的电子产品消费升级。当然，准确地说，是我爸妈的钱拉动了整个家族的电子产品消费升级，我只是负责花掉它们。
写到这里我犹豫了一下，因为这种话说出来确实有点欠揍。但我想了想，欠揍就欠揍吧，反正我又不是第一次欠揍了。
而墨水屏，是我在这条电子产品长征路上，投入了相当多热情、相当多金钱、也收获了相当多复杂情绪的一个品类。
我和墨水屏的缘分，要追溯到十年前。
那时候Kindle刚刚在国内流行起来，电子阅读器还是个新鲜玩意儿。我买了人生中第一台Kindle，屏幕白净透亮，翻页虽然有点慢，但那种接近纸张的质感让我觉得自己触摸到了未来。我当时坚信，纸质书的时代即将终结，电子阅读才是人类文明的归宿。
年轻人嘛，总是很容易相信点什么。
后来这台Kindle跟着我走南闯北，从本科到研究生，从国内到国外，成了我为数不多一直留在身边的电子设备。
十年过去了，墨水屏技术应该突飞猛进了吧？我是这么期待的。于是今年Kindle出了Scribe的2025新款，彩墨的Colorsoft和黑白的我都买了。
对，都买了。我就是这种人。
到手之后，我确实有惊喜。翻页速度真的很快，快到让我怀疑这还是墨水屏吗，那种曾经让人抓狂的延迟感几乎消失了。书写的流畅度也超出预期，Scribe作为一个笔记工具，确实做到了它承诺的体验。
可是，屏幕本身让我失望了。
怎么说呢，现在的墨水屏，灰。
这个灰说的是底色。彩墨屏的Kaleido 3，底色暗得像阴天傍晚的窗户纸。我买墨水屏，图的就是自然光下那种不伤眼的阅读体验，可这块屏幕在自然光下，我得把书凑到眼前才能看清内容，看完一章眼睛比刷两小时手机还酸。
打开背光，世界是清晰了，可我当初买它的理由也跟着模糊了。我要的是不用背光也能看，它给我的是不开背光就别想看。
那黑白的总该好一些吧？
我满怀希望地打开了搭载最新Carta 1300屏幕的Kindle Scribe。也是灰的。对比度确实比以前好，清晰度确实比以前高，但那层灰底始终让我没法忽视。
我把十年前的老Kindle翻出来对比了一下，发现老Kindle的屏幕反而更白净透亮。十年过去了，技术迭代了好几轮，屏幕名字从Pearl换到Carta再换到Carta 1200、Carta 1300，数字越来越大，可那种最基本的白净感反而退步了。
我用过的墨水屏其实挺多。除了Kindle，还有文石的Boox系列，大我的BigMe，华为的墨水屏平板。每一台买的时候都觉得这次应该有进步了，每一台用过之后都觉得好像还是差点意思。
差在哪里呢？
问题的核心其实很简单，墨水屏想要模拟纸张，但它始终只是在模拟。
它模拟了纸张的不发光，模拟了纸张的低刺激，但模拟终究是模拟。墨水屏给了我一个接近纸张的视觉体验，却给不了我纸张本身。
而纸张本身是什么呢？
是翻页时那种确切的触感。
纸张在指尖划过，有一种细微的粗糙和阻力，每翻一页都是一次小小的物理交互。墨水屏的翻页是点击或滑动，手指触碰的永远是同一块冰冷的玻璃屏幕，翻到第一页和翻到第一百页，触感毫无区别。
是书脊弯折时的那种生命感。
一本新书刚买回来，书脊是挺括的，你得小心翼翼地把它掰开，听到轻微的”咔咔”声，书页才会乖乖地平摊开来。读到一半的书，书脊会记住你读到的位置，自然地在那个地方弯折出一道弧度。读完的书，书脊上布满了细密的折痕，那是你和它相处过的全部证据。
是气味。
说出来可能有点变态，但我确实喜欢闻书。新书有新书的油墨香，那种清冽的、带着一点化学感的味道，让人闻到就想读点什么。旧书有旧书的陈年气息，混合着灰尘和时光，有时候还能闻出上一任主人的生活习惯。我有几本从旧书店淘来的书，书页里夹着淡淡的烟草味，我至今不知道那是谁留下的，但每次翻开都觉得自己在和一个陌生人共享同一本书。墨水屏是没有气味的。它可以存下一万本书，但一万本书闻起来都一样，都是塑料和电子元件的味道。
是重量感。
纸质书拿在手里，左手和右手的重量是不一样的。刚开始读的时候，右手厚，左手薄；读到一半，两边差不多重；快读完了，左手越来越厚，右手越来越薄。这种重量的转移是一种实实在在的进度反馈，你的身体知道自己读了多少，还剩多少。墨水屏永远是同样的重量，你只能靠屏幕下方那个小小的百分比来确认自己的进度，那是一个抽象的数字，和身体无关。
是空间感。
读完一本书，你可以把它立在书架上。日后某个下午路过书架，目光扫过书脊上的标题，你会想起当初读它时的心境，窗外是什么样的天气，手边放着什么样的饮料。书架是一个人阅读史的物理存档，每一本书都占据着一个真实的位置，提醒你它曾经来过你的生命。
写了这么多，我忽然发现自己很像网上那种控诉前任的人，洋洋洒洒几百字，条条款款，如数家珍，恨不得把对方的每一条罪状都钉在耻辱柱上。但没办法，这些确实是墨水屏给不了我的东西。
阅读从来都是一件感官参与的事情。眼睛在读，手指在翻，鼻子在闻，整个身体都沉浸在与一个物理存在的对话之中。墨水屏可以把信息传递给你，但它传递的只是信息。那些附着在纸张上无法被数字化的东西，它给不了。
于是在买完这一轮墨水屏新品之后，我做了一个听起来非常反科技、反进步的决定。我要回归纸质书。
这个决定让我自己都有点意外。毕竟我是那个追着科技前沿跑的人，是那个曾经信誓旦旦说以后只看电子书的人。十年前买第一台Kindle的时候，我真心实意地相信纸质书会成为少数人的情怀收藏品。
十年后，打脸来得如此响亮。
纸质书活得挺好的。而我，在尝试了那么多电子阅读设备之后，最终还是回到了它身边。
你可能会问，那墨水屏到底有什么问题？
其实没什么大问题。今年的新品速度够快，功能够全，做笔记写批注都很方便。如果你是一个重度电子书用户，如果你经常出差需要随身携带很多书，如果你对屏幕的那点灰底并不敏感，墨水屏依然是一个很好的选择。
但对我来说，那层灰底就是过不去的坎。
我承认这是一种很私人的、甚至有点矫情的执念。但我也没打算改。人活一世，总得允许自己矫情几件事。
而且我后来想明白了一件事。我读一本书需要的时间很长。我喜欢慢慢读，喜欢在某个段落停下来，思考，摘抄。这样的阅读方式，一本书可以陪我一两个月，甚至更久。
这么长的时间里，我只需要一本书。
一本书，几十块钱，可以给我一两个月的陪伴。它安安静静地待在我的床头，等我想起它的时候翻开，不想读的时候合上，摊在那里也不会自动息屏，也不用担心没电。
你说它占空间？以我的阅读速度，这辈子也攒不了太多书。你说它费钱？一台墨水屏的价格够我买几十本书了，更何况我买了那么多台。
算下来，我在墨水屏上花的钱，大概够我读到下辈子了。
这笔账算完，我自己都觉得有点好笑。一个声称热爱阅读的人，花在阅读设备上的钱，远远超过了花在书本身上的钱。这大概就是电子迷的宿命。我们总是在追逐那个更好的容器，却忘了容器里装的才是真正重要的东西。
所以现在我的墨水屏们都去哪里了呢？
大多数都在我外婆那里。
我外婆今年快八十了，耄耋之年。按理说这个岁数的老人家应该看看戏曲养养花，可她偏偏热衷于言情小说和各种狗血肥皂剧。我给她的墨水屏里下载了满满当当的言情小说，她看得比我还勤快。她平时话不多，但偶尔我会听到她自己在那里轻声感叹，”这个人怎么这样”，或者”哎，这个傻姑娘”。我就知道她又沉浸在哪个故事里了。
八十岁的老太太，看着二十岁小姑娘的爱情故事，看得入迷，看得感叹。我有时候觉得这件事本身就挺动人的。好像有些东西是可以跨越年龄的，好像人对故事的渴望是一辈子都不会消退的。
当然，也可能只是因为，狗血这种东西，确实是老少咸宜的。
墨水屏对她来说是一个巨大的图书馆，我下载的那些小说，够她看到九十岁了。她对屏幕灰不灰毫无感觉，她在乎的是字够大，翻页方便，下一章还有新的故事。
从这个角度来说，我买的那些墨水屏也算找到了自己的归宿。它们在我这里没能完成让我爱上电子阅读的使命，却在我外婆那里发光发热。
我的电子遗产，提前找到了继承人。
这篇文章写到这里，我想我应该回答一下最初的问题。为什么在使用了这么多墨水屏产品之后，我最终选择了纸质阅读？
答案其实很简单，也很个人。因为对我来说，阅读是一种感官体验，而纸质书提供的感官体验，是墨水屏无法替代的。
这个答案可能会让技术乐观主义者失望。他们会说，技术在进步，总有一天墨水屏会做到和纸张一模一样，甚至比纸张更好。也许吧。也许十年后、二十年后，会有一种全新的显示技术，真正实现纸张的一切质感，同时具备电子设备的全部便利。到那个时候，我可能会再次被打动，再次拥抱电子阅读。
但那是以后的事了。
现在的我，选择纸质书。我选择那种翻页时沙沙的声音，选择那种纸张在指尖的触感，选择把一本书读完之后放上书架时的小小仪式感。我选择用一本书陪伴自己一两个月，慢慢地、一点一点地走进一个作者构建的世界。
这种选择可能看起来很落后，很不符合一个电子迷的人设。但人本来就是矛盾的，我可以在游戏掌机上追逐最新款，同时在阅读这件事上做一个守旧的人。我可以热爱科技，同时承认科技在某些领域还没有做到足够好。
毕竟，我追逐的从来都是好，而不仅仅是新。新的东西如果更好，我就拥抱新的；旧的东西如果依然更好，我就留在旧的身边。
在阅读这件事上，纸质书依然更好。
至少对我来说是这样。
最后说一件小事。
前几天收拾房间，我把那台十年前的老Kindle又翻了出来。它的外壳已经有些磨损，边角泛着使用过的痕迹。我把它充上电，屏幕依然亮起来，依然是干干净净的白，如此熟悉。
我想起十年前买它时的自己，想起那时候对电子阅读的全部期待和想象。那个时候的我一定想不到，十年后我会放下它，重新拿起纸质书。
但我没有觉得遗憾。
这台Kindle陪我走过了十年，它完成了它的使命。它让我体验了电子阅读，让我知道了墨水屏是什么样子，也让我最终确认了自己真正想要的阅读方式。
它是一段旅程的同伴，而每一段旅程都有它的终点。
我把老Kindle放回抽屉，拿起床头那本书，翻到夹着书签的那一页。
十年前我以为自己会成为一个彻底的电子阅读者，十年后我坐在这里，手头是一本纸质书，书架上还有几十本等着我慢慢读完。
人生的很多事情大概都是这样，你以为你会走向某个方向，结果走着走着，发现自己回到了原点。但这个原点和出发时的那个原点又不太一样了，因为你绕了一大圈，终于确认了自己真正想要的是什么。
我想要的是纸。
以上。