books can be compasses for us, as we generate and revise systems of thinking:
"How might one create a medium which does the job of a book, but which escapes a book’s shackled sense of time? How might one create timeful texts—texts with affordances extending the authored experience over weeks and months, texts which continue the conversation with the reader as they slowly integrate those ideas into their lives?"
As we interviewed readers, though, we noticed that the regular review sessions didn’t just build detailed retention: the ongoing practice also changed readers’ relationship to the material by maintaining their contact with it over time.
In early chapters of Quantum Country, readers see every prompt as they read the text, and the prompts remain the same in the ensuing review sessions. But in the final chapter, we added a new kind of prompt which changes over time in a programmed sequence. Perhaps future timeful texts could unfurl their contents over the course of many sessions, much as we observed that digital meditation lessons do.
“When a book is referred to here, what is meant is the book as an object of use, in the codex form now familiar to us. This definition serves to separate off the concept from, on the one hand, content — the message that is communicated through the medium of the book — and also, on the other hand, from the art object in book form.
Even in this limited sense, the term has more than one meaning. The bookseller, librarian, bookbinder and reader will all understand something a little different by it”
— Jost Hochuli, Designing Books: Practice and Theory, p. 31
maybe the reason books are so wondrously intimate and private is drawings, images from childhood of people with their nose in a book — holding books close is a kind of union