I work in academic technology. I spend my days in Blackboard Ultra, Microsoft Teams, SharePoint, Kaltura, Adobe Photoshop, or even Google Sites -- to name a few of the applications I use daily. I design online learning environments, troubleshoot digital tools, and advocate for thoughtful technology integration in higher education. By every conventional measure, I am a technology enthusiast, and by birth year, I am a millennial, often categorized as a digital native who grew up alongside the internet and came of age with it. And yet, when I want to actually read something, I want paper. When I recently picked up Paul Dean’s (2025) Class Cultures and Social Mobility: The Hidden Strengths of Working-Class First-Generation Graduates, I bought a physical copy without hesitation. I have tried ebooks. I have tried reading apps on tablets. I have tried Kindle. Every time, I find myself distracted, disengaged, or simply unable to sink into the material the way I do when I am holding something that has weight, texture, and smell... and oh that smell; I love the smell of a brand new book, it's so inviting!
Reading is not purely a visual act. It is a physical one. When we hold a book, we register its weight, feel the texture of the pages, smell the paper, and sense our spatial position within the text in a way that is genuinely tactile and kinesthetic. Researchers have studied this phenomenon seriously. Mangen and van der Weel (2016) described how print books and "paper substrates" lend an obvious physicality to individual texts, arguing that the haptic feedback of a touch screen is fundamentally different from a paper book and that this difference has cognitive and experiential consequences. The sense of touch, they argue, plays a much bigger role in reading than typically recognized.
Such a claim is grounded in what cognitive scientists call embodied cognition: the idea that physical interaction with objects shapes how we mentally represent and remember them. Research in experimental psychology and neuroscience has demonstrated that object manipulation provides spatial information that is crucial for building coherent mental representations (Mangen & van der Weel, 2016, as cited in Artushin, 2024). When we read a physical book, the weight of the pages we have already turned versus the pages remaining gives us an implicit, felt sense of where we are in the argument, the narrative, or the structure. No progress bar on a screen replicates this.
A study by Mangen et al. (2019) found that readers of print media demonstrated better ability to localize relevant events within the space of the text and within the time of the story compared to readers on a Kindle. The researchers specifically isolated haptic and kinesthetic cues as the meaningful variable, not visual ergonomics. The physical act of reading creates a spatial memory of the text that screens cannot easily reproduce, and this difference has real implications for comprehension, particularly for longer and more complex texts.
The research on whether we learn better from print or screens isn’t one-size-fits-all. However, the bulk of new data clearly favors print media when reading long passages or tackling complex ideas. A 2023 review of 23 studies confirmed that while results vary, we often understand less on a screen. This shift is especially jarring for advanced readers; those with deep print media habits tend to see the sharpest drop in comprehension when moving to a digital device (Peras et al., 2023).
A 2022 study published by Bresó-Grancha et al. examined reading times and comprehension on paper and on screen among university students who self-reported a preference for digital media. Their findings were notable: even among students who preferred digital reading, no statistically significant comprehension advantage emerged for the screen condition. The authors suggested that years of reading on screens may actually train our brains to skim rather than absorb. We get faster, but we go shallower. And when the material actually demands our full attention, that habit works against us.
A large-scale meta-analysis published in Review of Educational Research by Altamura et al. (2023) examined the relationship between leisure digital reading habits and text comprehension across 470,000 participants spanning more than three dozen countries. The study found a consistent negative relationship between digital leisure reading and reading comprehension, and the researchers attributed the gap in part to distractibility, physical discomfort from screen use, and the absence of the kind of deep processing that sustained print engagement promotes.
A 2024 study out of Teachers College, Columbia University took things a step further by looking directly at the brain. Using electrophysiology technology, researchers measured how deeply middle schoolers were actually processing what they read, digitally versus in print. What they found was striking: this was the first study of its kind to detect differences at the neural level, meaning inside the brain itself. Print readers were not just reading differently. They were understanding more deeply. Not faster or slower, but at a fundamentally richer level of comprehension (Froud et al., 2024).
What strikes me most about this body of research is how clearly it validates an experience that many readers have but may not have been consciously aware of. Choosing print is a response to how our brains actually process sustained and complex information, rather than a resistance to progress. The tactile weight of a book in your hands, the smell of paper, and the ritual of turning a page are all significant. Even the felt sense of progress as a stack of pages moves from right to left (or left to right) is important. None of this is incidental. As the research increasingly suggests, these elements are part of the reading experience itself. A physical book has weight, and that weight varies from book to book. Research on embodied cognition suggests that when people hold something heavy, they perceive it as more important (Weinschenk, as cited in The Team W, 2024). An e-reader, by contrast, weighs the same whether you are reading a slim novella or a thousand-page scholarly tome. The same is true of thickness: the number of pages and the felt heft of a book are part of the experience of the book, shaping how we orient ourselves to the material before we have read a single word.
In my work as an instructional designer, I spend considerable time thinking about Universal Design for Learning (UDL). The UDL framework, developed by CAST, calls for providing multiple means of representation, engagement, and action and expression to meet the diverse needs of all learners (CAST, 2024). The foundational premise is that no single mode of presenting information is optimal for all learners, and that flexibility in format is not an accommodation but a design principle. What UDL asks of instructional designers is also what I would ask of myself as a reader: what format best serves this learning goal for this learner in this context? UDL guidelines explicitly recognize that print materials offer a fixed, permanent display of information, while digital materials can offer adjustability (CAST, 2024). But adjustability is not the same as superiority. For learners who process information more deeply through sustained, haptic engagement with print, defaulting to digital formats in the name of accessibility or modernity can itself become a barrier.
This is the paradox that my own experience surfaces: I am a person who works in digital learning environments and genuinely believes in their power to increase access and flexibility. And I am also a person for whom a physical book is a better learning tool than any ebook app currently on the market. UDL would say: honor that. Design for it. Do not assume that digital is always the bridge. Sometimes, it is the barrier. Learning should drive technology, not the other way around. My mentor, Dr. Lisa Manley, gave me this sage advice early in my career, and it has become a framework I affectionately refer to as the "Lisa Framework" I return to constantly. It reminds me that the goal of learning must always lead the choice of technology, not the other way around. Whenever we consider a new system or platform, her statement acts like a voice on my shoulder asking why we are doing this and if it actually makes sense. This is essentially the core of Universal Design for Learning. As educators, we want to keep things as direct and simple as possible to remove potential barriers before they can even exist.
When I choose a physical book over an ebook, I am recognizing that for the kind of reading I want to do, print media is superior to digital media. But this conversation is about more than reading comprehension data. There is something deeper at stake when we talk about the slow erosion of physical media in general. We are living through a period in which the physical world is steadily giving way to digital ecosystems. Music, photographs, movies, newspapers, magazines, and now books are all migrating to screens and servers and cloud storage. Each of those migrations brings real benefits: accessibility, convenience, affordability, reach. I am not dismissing any of that. But with each shift, something also goes with it. Not just a format. An experience. A texture. A smell. A weight in your hands. The feeling of presence that only physical objects carry.
A physical book is an object that lives alongside us. You can give it as a gift with a handwritten note tucked inside the cover. It can sit on your shelf for years as a quiet reminder of the person who gave it to you. You can pass it to a friend with a sticky note pointing to a favorite passage, or find it in a used bookstore with a stranger’s pencil marks in the margins, a whole invisible conversation waiting to be discovered. None of that happens with a digital file. Books make extraordinary gifts for this reason. Choosing a book for someone requires thought. It requires knowing what they care about, what they are curious about, and what they are going through. Handing someone a book says that you were thinking about them. It says you found something you believe will matter to them, and you wanted them to have something they can hold. Sometimes, you take a risk and hand a book over simply because you love it and hope they will too. You might wrap it carefully or just press it into their hands as is. That simple exchange can spark a new passion, resurrect an old one, or become a family heirloom passed down through generations. Giving a book is an extension of yourself in the act in of itself.
I wrote a textbook once, I shared it on this very blog for free. It is not the most advanced of textbooks, and it does not follow all conventional formatting practices. It really began as a collection of writings and readings I put together for my students in a class I was teaching. By the end of that class, I looked up and realized I had a whole book's worth of content I had produced, and decided to put it together as such and give it to the internet for free. But what it is, is mine. My words. My thoughts. My observations. A piece of myself, forever immortalized, and I wanted to share and gift that piece of myself to those who mean something to me. So after I finished compiling all my writings, I had some special physical copies made. When the printed copies arrived, I excitedly gave them out to friends, family, mentors, and those close to me (Lisa, I have a physical copy waiting for the next time I see you!) I wrote special notes to each recipient and what this book not only meant to me, but what I hope it meant to them, or how they inspired some of what was in the book. I remember the particular feeling of placing that physical book into the hands of the recipients. I preferred the act of handing it over to the ease of sending a link or a PDF. This was so much more personal, so much more... special. By sharing my textbook this way, I was giving away a piece of myself rather than just sharing information. That gesture says, "This means so much to me, and I want you to have it too." My mother could hold it. My friends could flip through it, stop on a page, and ask me questions. It exists in the world in a way that a file on a server never can. An achievement you can hold feels different from one you can only click on.
A physical book is an experience complete with emotion, memory, and tangible connection. It is far more than a simple modality. The books I have received as gifts are among the objects I am least likely to ever part with. While I have ebooks I cannot even remember downloading, I have physical books older than me -- older than my parents -- that are among my most cherished possessions still sitting on my shelf. I can tell you exactly who gave them to me, why they chose them, and what it felt like to open them for the first time. At the end of the day, perhaps the best thing we can give or receive is the quiet, peace, and solitude a physical book offers. It is a welcome retreat from the constant flow of information and the constant erosion of time we experience as a result of living in a digitally connected world. Sometimes the most advanced piece of technology we need is what we can create from nothing more than ink and paper.
Artushin, H. R. (2024, February 2). The case for paper: Books vs. e-readers. Psychology Today. https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/well-read/202402/the-case-for-paper-books-vs-e-readers
Bresó-Grancha, N., Jorques-Infante, M. J., & Moret-Tatay, C. (2022). Reading digital- versus print-easy texts: A study with university students who prefer digital sources. Psicologia: Reflexao e Critica, 35(1). https://doi.org/10.1186/s41155-022-00212-4
CAST. (2024). Universal Design for Learning guidelines version 3.0. http://udlguidelines.cast.org
Froud, K., Levinson, L., Maddox, C., & Smith, P. (2024). Middle-schoolers’ reading and lexical-semantic processing depth in response to digital and print media: An N400 study. PLOS ONE, 19(5). https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0290807
Mangen, A., Olivier, G., & Velay, J.-L. (2019). Comparing comprehension of a long text read in print book and on Kindle: Where in the text and when in the story? Frontiers in Psychology, 10, 38. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2019.00038
Mangen, A., & van der Weel, A. (2016). The evolution of reading in the age of digitisation: An integrative framework for reading research. Literacy, 50(3), 116–124. https://doi.org/10.1111/lit.12086
Peras, I., Klemenčič Mirazchiyski, E., Japelj Pavešić, B., & Mekiš Recek, Ž. (2023). Digital versus paper reading: A systematic literature review on contemporary gaps according to gender, socioeconomic status, and rurality. European Journal of Investigation in Health, Psychology and Education, 13(10), 1986–2005. https://doi.org/10.3390/ejihpe13100142
The Team W. (2024, May 21). 100 more things #133: The multisensory experience of physical books is important to reading. The Team W Blog. https://www.blog.theteamw.com/2024/05/21/100-more-things-133-the-multisensory-experience-of-physical-books-is-important-to-reading/
A 2024 study out of Teachers College, Columbia University took things a step further by looking directly at the brain. Using electrophysiology technology, researchers measured how deeply middle schoolers were actually processing what they read, digitally versus in print. What they found was striking: this was the first study of its kind to detect differences at the neural level, meaning inside the brain itself. Print readers were not just reading differently. They were understanding more deeply. Not faster or slower, but at a fundamentally richer level of comprehension (Froud et al., 2024).
What strikes me most about this body of research is how clearly it validates an experience that many readers have but may not have been consciously aware of. Choosing print is a response to how our brains actually process sustained and complex information, rather than a resistance to progress. The tactile weight of a book in your hands, the smell of paper, and the ritual of turning a page are all significant. Even the felt sense of progress as a stack of pages moves from right to left (or left to right) is important. None of this is incidental. As the research increasingly suggests, these elements are part of the reading experience itself. A physical book has weight, and that weight varies from book to book. Research on embodied cognition suggests that when people hold something heavy, they perceive it as more important (Weinschenk, as cited in The Team W, 2024). An e-reader, by contrast, weighs the same whether you are reading a slim novella or a thousand-page scholarly tome. The same is true of thickness: the number of pages and the felt heft of a book are part of the experience of the book, shaping how we orient ourselves to the material before we have read a single word.
In my work as an instructional designer, I spend considerable time thinking about Universal Design for Learning (UDL). The UDL framework, developed by CAST, calls for providing multiple means of representation, engagement, and action and expression to meet the diverse needs of all learners (CAST, 2024). The foundational premise is that no single mode of presenting information is optimal for all learners, and that flexibility in format is not an accommodation but a design principle. What UDL asks of instructional designers is also what I would ask of myself as a reader: what format best serves this learning goal for this learner in this context? UDL guidelines explicitly recognize that print materials offer a fixed, permanent display of information, while digital materials can offer adjustability (CAST, 2024). But adjustability is not the same as superiority. For learners who process information more deeply through sustained, haptic engagement with print, defaulting to digital formats in the name of accessibility or modernity can itself become a barrier.
This is the paradox that my own experience surfaces: I am a person who works in digital learning environments and genuinely believes in their power to increase access and flexibility. And I am also a person for whom a physical book is a better learning tool than any ebook app currently on the market. UDL would say: honor that. Design for it. Do not assume that digital is always the bridge. Sometimes, it is the barrier. Learning should drive technology, not the other way around. My mentor, Dr. Lisa Manley, gave me this sage advice early in my career, and it has become a framework I affectionately refer to as the "Lisa Framework" I return to constantly. It reminds me that the goal of learning must always lead the choice of technology, not the other way around. Whenever we consider a new system or platform, her statement acts like a voice on my shoulder asking why we are doing this and if it actually makes sense. This is essentially the core of Universal Design for Learning. As educators, we want to keep things as direct and simple as possible to remove potential barriers before they can even exist.
When I choose a physical book over an ebook, I am recognizing that for the kind of reading I want to do, print media is superior to digital media. But this conversation is about more than reading comprehension data. There is something deeper at stake when we talk about the slow erosion of physical media in general. We are living through a period in which the physical world is steadily giving way to digital ecosystems. Music, photographs, movies, newspapers, magazines, and now books are all migrating to screens and servers and cloud storage. Each of those migrations brings real benefits: accessibility, convenience, affordability, reach. I am not dismissing any of that. But with each shift, something also goes with it. Not just a format. An experience. A texture. A smell. A weight in your hands. The feeling of presence that only physical objects carry.
A physical book is an object that lives alongside us. You can give it as a gift with a handwritten note tucked inside the cover. It can sit on your shelf for years as a quiet reminder of the person who gave it to you. You can pass it to a friend with a sticky note pointing to a favorite passage, or find it in a used bookstore with a stranger’s pencil marks in the margins, a whole invisible conversation waiting to be discovered. None of that happens with a digital file. Books make extraordinary gifts for this reason. Choosing a book for someone requires thought. It requires knowing what they care about, what they are curious about, and what they are going through. Handing someone a book says that you were thinking about them. It says you found something you believe will matter to them, and you wanted them to have something they can hold. Sometimes, you take a risk and hand a book over simply because you love it and hope they will too. You might wrap it carefully or just press it into their hands as is. That simple exchange can spark a new passion, resurrect an old one, or become a family heirloom passed down through generations. Giving a book is an extension of yourself in the act in of itself.
I wrote a textbook once, I shared it on this very blog for free. It is not the most advanced of textbooks, and it does not follow all conventional formatting practices. It really began as a collection of writings and readings I put together for my students in a class I was teaching. By the end of that class, I looked up and realized I had a whole book's worth of content I had produced, and decided to put it together as such and give it to the internet for free. But what it is, is mine. My words. My thoughts. My observations. A piece of myself, forever immortalized, and I wanted to share and gift that piece of myself to those who mean something to me. So after I finished compiling all my writings, I had some special physical copies made. When the printed copies arrived, I excitedly gave them out to friends, family, mentors, and those close to me (Lisa, I have a physical copy waiting for the next time I see you!) I wrote special notes to each recipient and what this book not only meant to me, but what I hope it meant to them, or how they inspired some of what was in the book. I remember the particular feeling of placing that physical book into the hands of the recipients. I preferred the act of handing it over to the ease of sending a link or a PDF. This was so much more personal, so much more... special. By sharing my textbook this way, I was giving away a piece of myself rather than just sharing information. That gesture says, "This means so much to me, and I want you to have it too." My mother could hold it. My friends could flip through it, stop on a page, and ask me questions. It exists in the world in a way that a file on a server never can. An achievement you can hold feels different from one you can only click on.
A physical book is an experience complete with emotion, memory, and tangible connection. It is far more than a simple modality. The books I have received as gifts are among the objects I am least likely to ever part with. While I have ebooks I cannot even remember downloading, I have physical books older than me -- older than my parents -- that are among my most cherished possessions still sitting on my shelf. I can tell you exactly who gave them to me, why they chose them, and what it felt like to open them for the first time. At the end of the day, perhaps the best thing we can give or receive is the quiet, peace, and solitude a physical book offers. It is a welcome retreat from the constant flow of information and the constant erosion of time we experience as a result of living in a digitally connected world. Sometimes the most advanced piece of technology we need is what we can create from nothing more than ink and paper.
References
Altamura, L., Vargas, C., & Salmerón, L. (2023). Do new forms of reading pay off? A meta-analysis on the relationship between leisure digital reading habits and text comprehension. Review of Educational Research, 93(5). https://doi.org/10.3102/00346543231216463Artushin, H. R. (2024, February 2). The case for paper: Books vs. e-readers. Psychology Today. https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/well-read/202402/the-case-for-paper-books-vs-e-readers
Bresó-Grancha, N., Jorques-Infante, M. J., & Moret-Tatay, C. (2022). Reading digital- versus print-easy texts: A study with university students who prefer digital sources. Psicologia: Reflexao e Critica, 35(1). https://doi.org/10.1186/s41155-022-00212-4
CAST. (2024). Universal Design for Learning guidelines version 3.0. http://udlguidelines.cast.org
Froud, K., Levinson, L., Maddox, C., & Smith, P. (2024). Middle-schoolers’ reading and lexical-semantic processing depth in response to digital and print media: An N400 study. PLOS ONE, 19(5). https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0290807
Mangen, A., Olivier, G., & Velay, J.-L. (2019). Comparing comprehension of a long text read in print book and on Kindle: Where in the text and when in the story? Frontiers in Psychology, 10, 38. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2019.00038
Mangen, A., & van der Weel, A. (2016). The evolution of reading in the age of digitisation: An integrative framework for reading research. Literacy, 50(3), 116–124. https://doi.org/10.1111/lit.12086
Peras, I., Klemenčič Mirazchiyski, E., Japelj Pavešić, B., & Mekiš Recek, Ž. (2023). Digital versus paper reading: A systematic literature review on contemporary gaps according to gender, socioeconomic status, and rurality. European Journal of Investigation in Health, Psychology and Education, 13(10), 1986–2005. https://doi.org/10.3390/ejihpe13100142
The Team W. (2024, May 21). 100 more things #133: The multisensory experience of physical books is important to reading. The Team W Blog. https://www.blog.theteamw.com/2024/05/21/100-more-things-133-the-multisensory-experience-of-physical-books-is-important-to-reading/
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