On the other, you have Alan Glynn, the first chapter of whose novel Bloodland has this to say:
"It's the unread paper.I don't find eternal existence of "printed paper products" a reassuring prospect, nor do I find the declaration's smug, condescending tone endearing (though all I have is that brief quotation; I don't know the context.) Glynn is unprepared to accept the giddy assurances of boosters and innovators that online news heralds the path to a bright new world. His worries about the state of my profession are just a small part of a chilling, brilliant first chapter in which no one is sure of anything, so everyone is alert to everything, antennae twitching at the slightest whisper of disturbance:
"He bought it on the way here, in the SPAR on the corner, but the truth is he'd already read most of it online earlier in the day.
" ... He worries for the health of the printed newspaper.
"Unfortunately, his own direct experience of the business was cut short by an industry-wide epidemic of falling ad revenues. But even in the few years prior to that things had started feeling pretty thinned-out. Some of the senior reporters and specialist correspondents still had good sources and were out there on a regular basis gathering actual news, but as a recent hire Jimmy spent most of his days in front of a terminal recycling wire copy and PR material, a lot of it already second-hand and very little of it fact-checked."
"Jimmy stops in his tracks. A group of American tourists walks past him, one of them talking loudly, a big guy with a beard saying something about `this giant Ponzi scheme.'
"At the taxi rank to his left a young couple appear to be having an argument.
"`I told you, he's from work.'
"Beyond them, are lights, colours, a kaleidoscope, traffic stopping and starting."
© Peter Rozovsky 2011