In our era of e-readers and tablets, the prevailing wisdom is that printed books are destined to become moribund. At best, they’ll be quirky relics of centuries gone by that are kept for the sake of nostalgia; at worst, clunky tomes that are chucked into the recycling bin of history.

Those of us inclined to pontificate about the talismanic qualities of hard copy – to cherish the relationships we’ve built with particular books, or to celebrate the texture and smell of volumes old and new – tend to come across as reactionaries, luddites or even anti-environmentalists. And, to be fair, even the most ardent admirer of bookshelf porn (oh yes, it’s a recognised category – have a look at www.bookshelfporn.com) sometimes envies the convenience of a readily searchable, easily portable, personal library.