Last week I blogged about the proliferation of book rental programs, particularly those focused on college students and their textbooks. I raised questions about their promises of savings over traditional purchase and buyback, and asked whether most college students ever truly bought their textbooks, anyway.
But there’s more at stake in book renting — beyond the possibility of manipulation by advertising, or even the mutation of a business model. There are broader social, economic, and attitudinal considerations that arise when people like you and me cease being the owners of books and instead become their lessees.
The last time book renting really caught on was during the Great Depression of the 1930s. I’ve blogged about this before; it’s how the now-defunct Waldenbooks chain got its start. What’s interesting to me is the context out of which book rental first emerged: a severe economic crisis — a time when the gap between rich and poor became a chasm, and disposable income all but dried up for ordinary people. While I don’t believe the present-day renewal of interest in book renting is reducible to the economic meltdown of 2008 (and beyond), I cannot help but be struck by the similarity in the timing.
Indeed, in the United States, we’ve been hearing report after report about how the income of the wealthiest Americans — a tiny minority — has been growing, while that of the majority has been slipping. Right now the wealthiest 20% of the population controls a whopping 84% of the nation’s wealth. In crude terms, we’re moving in the direction of a society consisting of “haves” and the “have-nots,” or, more to the point, of people who can afford to own property (broadly construed) and those who cannot.
Now, I don’t mean to deny the benefits that come from book renting. Realistically, most people don’t want to own every book they read, and for good reason. Not all books are keepers; they’re also heavy and consume valuable space — the paper ones, anyway. Beyond that, when books become too expensive for people to own outright, it’s good to have some type of affordable option (in addition to libraries) to keep people reading. Rental may be something of a boon from an environmental standpoint, finally, because you can produce fewer goods and consume fewer resources in the process.
But there’s also a major downside.
Renting books, as with rental more broadly, means you no longer get to set the terms of your relationship with these goods. Can you underline, highlight, or annotate a book you’ve rented? What about dog-earing important pages? Legally speaking, can you loan a rented book to a friend? Can you duplicate any of the pages, assuming they’re for personal use? In a traditional ownership situation, you’re the one who provides the answers to these questions. You’re in control. When you lease, the answers are dictated by the property owner, or rentier, who naturally puts her or his interests ahead of yours.
Renting is, then, a type of power relationship in which the rentier holds all of the cards — or, at least, the really goods ones. And here I’m reminded of a passage from the cultural studies scholar Raymond Williams, who, in his magnificent essay “Culture Is Ordinary” (1958), talks about how the coming of power and consumer goods to the impoverished Welsh countryside transformed people’s senses of themselves. The ability to own consumer goods, Williams said, heightened the “personal grasp” his friends and family felt over their lives. The presence of these items and their ability to use them however they saw fit made them less beholden to wealthy, outside authorities.
Today, the tide seems to be shifting the opposite way. Economic conditions are such that rental is becoming a more attractive option again — and not only for books. And with it slips that sense of personal grasp Williams talked about. Often, signing a lease is an exercise in having to accept terms and conditions someone else has laid out for you. More disturbingly, doing so over and over again may well reinforce an attitude of deference and resignation among we, the lessees.
With apologies to Hayek, renting books could be a pathway leading us down the road to serfdom.