Recently, I lost my entire digital music collection and some of my digital photos. They weren’t corrupted or accidentally deleted; they just vanished. One day, they were there, and the next, they were gone.
It caused me to pause and ponder a question that has lingered with me ever since. Do we truly own a digital file?
When you “buy” an eBook or a piece of music, you are not actually purchasing ownership. You are acquiring a licence to access it. You can download it, but you cannot lend it to a friend, pass it on to your children, or donate it to a library. It can disappear as quickly as it arrived.
That loss made me realise how delicate digital possessions are. What I have always treasured about books is that they do not disappear. They sit on my shelves, waiting for me to open them. They hold memories, not just stories.
I have been collecting books since I was a teenager. Initially, I was drawn to the feeling each story evoked in me. Over the years, my interest shifted to first editions, particularly signed first editions. Now, I own around five thousand of them.
When I see a book on my shelf, I am instantly transported back to the moment I read it. The weight in my hands, the texture of the dust jacket, the ink of the author’s signature—all evoke a memory.
Yes, I worry about keeping them in good condition, but that worry feels like care. It is not the same kind of anxiety as wondering when a digital file might vanish without warning.
An interesting trend is emerging at my bookshop, Goldsboro Books. Younger readers, many of whom have grown up amid screens, are increasingly choosing beautiful physical books. They want to possess something tangible and enduring.
Research shows that 63 percent of physical book buyers in the UK are under 44, while 52 percent of eBook buyers are over 45. The generation that should be most comfortable with digital formats is actively turning towards print.
I believe this is because people are fed up with subscription models. We stream our music, television, news, and audiobooks. Everything feels temporary. People want to hold on to something, to own it completely, and to know it will still be there tomorrow.
A signed first edition creates a personal connection between reader and author. The author wrote this book and took the time to sign it. That simple act turns the book into a keepsake.
I have books signed by authors who are no longer with us. Each one holds more than a story; it holds a moment, a piece of history. Younger readers are discovering this for themselves. They want the books that shaped their lives in a form that will last.
When I open a book, I get a feeling no eBook has ever given me. The sound of the pages, the scent of the paper, the quiet weight of something that will outlast me. That is the difference between access and ownership, between temporary and permanent.
At Goldsboro Books, we believe stories should be treasured, not just consumed. Every book we sell is signed, every copy is personal.
Owning a book means more than reading it. It means keeping a piece of the story, the author, and the moment you discovered it.
So I will ask again. Do you ever really own a digital file?
My five thousand signed first editions, and the shelves at Goldsboro Books, answer that question every day.
