Screens Are the New Pages

iPad Rues

People act like books are the holy grail — like the only legitimate way to learn, to think, to be “smart.” But books aren’t sacred. Stories are. Information is. Books are just the container.

I don’t hate books. I’ve got favourites. I’m writing a novel. I read all day — messages, essays, research, conversations, my own drafts. But somehow, because I don’t worship the printed page like a church pew, I’m “less intelligent”? Come on.

If I learn science from a TikTok made by a guy who actually read all ten textbooks and boiled them down for me, how is that a downgrade? It’s efficiency. It’s clarity. It’s the world working the way it should.

The form doesn’t matter. The accuracy does. The story does. The lesson does.

As a teacher, I couldn’t care less how a student gets the knowledge — video, book, conversation, Kanban board, me in a bunny suit hopping around the dojo. If it sticks, it works.

And that’s the part the book purists miss: books are slow. Most of them say too much. They stretch a five-page idea into 300 because the industry demands it. And then you’re expected to be proud you suffered through the fluff. Good for you. I’m busy.

It’s 2025. Information moves faster than publishing ever will. If you want to judge someone’s intelligence based on the *format* they learn from instead of the *quality* of what they absorb, you’re not smart — you’re nostalgic.

I don’t care if you read a book, watch a documentary, scroll an article, or get taught by a bald dude on a mat — did you learn something or not? That’s all that matters.

And look — if your kid is on the iPad all day, maybe don’t panic. Just make sure two things are happening: they move their body, and whatever they’re watching is actually worth watching.

Education is entertaining enough now to keep a kid engaged without forcing them through a dry chapter about photosynthesis. When my son was little, we watched the same YouTube videos about the planets, singing the same songs over and over. I miss that. Those were good days.

And yeah, I used to say, “Go read a book,” because that’s what good parents are supposed to say, right? But then I stopped and asked myself: why? The kid can read. He loves stories — movies, TV, games — the same way I do. We get our stories there. He does his homework, learns Japanese on apps, sharpens his boxing skills watching YouTube while eating cereal. Tell me that’s not learning.

Screens aren’t replacing books — they already did. Star Trek showed us this before any of us were born. But does that mean the art is dead? No. It means the medium changed, not the meaning.

Books aren’t disappearing — they’re just losing their monopoly. And maybe that’s a good thing. Stories survive in whatever form we tell them. Always have. Always will.

Books matter. But they’re not the be-all end-all. They’re one instrument in a symphony that’s getting louder, faster, and more creative every year. And if your kid learns better from a glowing screen than a printed page? That’s not failure. That’s evolution.

And look — if knowledge becomes more accessible because it comes in a different wrapper, isn’t that a good thing? Isn’t that what we want — a more educated society, not a more nostalgic one?

If a kid in a basement apartment can learn astrophysics because someone animated the universe on YouTube? That’s a win. If a teenager can understand economics because someone on TikTok cut the ego out of it? That’s a win. If a dad in a dojo can explain empathy, discipline, or life to thousands of people because he posts it online instead of waiting for a publisher to validate him? That’s a win.

Technology didn’t dumb us down — it just removed the bouncers at the door.

Books used to be gatekept by publishers, professors, and people who believed knowledge should only be accessed in one “proper” way. Now it’s everywhere. Fast. Free. Fluid.

And yes, if I keep going, I’ll get political — which is exactly why I should stop right here before I accidentally write the very thing I’m critiquing:

A book.