The Last Thing We Should Let AI Replace Is Our Love for Books

11 hours ago

15 min read

On childhood libraries, raising a young reader, and why preserving books matters in a world that seems increasingly determined to stop reading.

"You want weapons? We're in a library! Books! The best weapons in the world!" The Tenth Doctor's words still hit me hard.

“A book is more than something we read. It's a piece of someone's imagination that we get to carry into the future.”

Introduction: A Question from My Six Year Old

A while back, I was working in my studio office when my six-year-old daughter decided to keep me company.

If you have a six year old, you know what that means.

You don't really work alone anymore. You work while someone asks you questions, tells you stories, shows you things you absolutely must look at right now, and occasionally interrupts your train of thought with a question that somehow turns out to be more interesting than whatever you were doing.

That day, she was looking around my office when she noticed the books on my shelves.

I keep quite a collection. Books on art, storytelling, comics, animation, and whatever else has caught my interest over the years. They sit there like a little library of my own.

She looked at the shelves, then at her books, and asked me:

"Daddy, why are my books not stacked cleanly like yours?"

Then came the follow up.

"Do I have many books like yours?"

I laughed and told her, "No."

It was an innocent exchange. Nothing particularly profound. Just a kid noticing that her dad has a lot of books.

But afterward, I started thinking about it.

What kind of relationship will my daughter have with books when she grows up? Will she enjoy getting lost in a story, flipping through an encyclopedia, or discovering something unexpected on a page? Or will books become something she only encounters when a school assignment requires them?

I don't have the answer.

But I do know that books played a significant role in shaping the person I became, and I would hate to see that experience disappear from the lives of the next generation.

Not because everyone needs to become a bookworm. Not because reading a printed page makes you a better person than someone who listens to an audiobook.

But because there is something valuable about having access to ideas, stories, and knowledge that someone took the time to preserve.

And as an artist, storyteller, and father, I think that's worth talking about.

The Deep Dive: Before the Internet, I Had a Library

I grew up in the 1990s, back when having a set of A-to-Z encyclopedias at home felt like a perfectly normal thing.

You remember those, right?

Big, heavy books lined up on a shelf, with their matching covers and pages full of information. You could open one because you needed to look something up, then end up reading about something completely unrelated for the next hour.

That was the magic of it.

I loved those encyclopedias, especially the pictures. As a kid who was already interested in drawing, illustrations were an invitation to explore. One image could send me down a rabbit hole of animals, historical figures, strange places, machines, or things I had never even heard of.

I didn't always know what I was looking for. Sometimes, I wasn't looking for anything at all.

I was just curious.

My parents also kept a small library at home, and those books became part of the environment I grew up in. Reading wasn't some grand self-improvement project. It was simply something available to me.

I also remember going with my mother to work when she was teaching at a local university. Sometimes, she'd leave me at the library, where I could spend hours surrounded by books.

For a kid, that was a pretty good deal.

While my mother was working, I had an entire world to explore without needing to go anywhere.

Looking back, I realize that those experiences helped shape how I approach art and storytelling. They gave me opportunities to discover things beyond my immediate surroundings and to follow my curiosity wherever it led.

I can't claim that books alone made me an artist. Creativity comes from many places: observation, experience, practice, conversations, mistakes, and the people around us.

But books gave me something important.

They gave me access to worlds I hadn't experienced and ideas I hadn't considered.

And that is one reason I still love making comics today. A comic book is, in its own way, a small library of someone else's imagination. An artist and writer take the things they've observed, learned, feared, loved, and imagined, then turn them into something another person can experience.

You create a world, put it on a page, and hope someone else will step inside.

That's what I want to keep doing with Zamora.

But lately, I've been thinking about what happens when we stop treating books as something worth preserving.

We have more ways to consume stories, but are we making less room for reading?

Let's be fair. Reading hasn't disappeared.

People still read novels, comics, articles, digital books, and all kinds of written material. Audiobooks help people enjoy stories while commuting, working, or doing chores. Videos and podcasts can introduce us to ideas we might never have encountered otherwise.

I use digital tools myself. I'm not going to pretend that the answer is to throw away our phones and return to a world where everyone spends their evenings reading an encyclopedia by candlelight.

Although, depending on the electricity bill, that last part might not be a bad idea.

The problem isn't that new forms of media exist.

The problem is when convenience becomes our only measure of value.

We're surrounded by content designed to grab our attention quickly. A video ends, another begins. A feed refreshes, and there is always something new to look at. Even our entertainment increasingly competes to keep us from looking away.

Reading a book asks something different of us.

It asks us to stay with an idea. To follow an argument. To imagine what a writer describes. To pause, reread a passage, disagree with a character, or sit with a question that doesn't have an immediate answer.

Not every book is profound, of course. Some are dull. Some are badly written. Some should probably have been a three page article.

But the act of reading can give us space to think rather than simply react.

And as someone who makes visual stories for a living, I value that space.

Drawing a comic page requires me to make decisions about what the reader sees, what remains hidden, how long a moment lasts, and what the reader must imagine between panels. The reader isn't simply receiving information. They're participating in the experience.

Books can create that kind of relationship between the creator and the audience.

They give us room to interpret, question, and discover.

I don't want that experience to become something future generations consider old-fashioned and unnecessary.

The AI question is bigger than whether a machine can write a book.

Now we have another challenge to consider: artificial intelligence.

AI tools can generate text, images, summaries, and other material at a speed that would have seemed unbelievable not so long ago. These technologies can be useful, and there are legitimate ways to use them to detect cancer, automate hazardous work areas, and other mundane tasks.

But their rise also raises harsh questions about the material used to train them, the rights of the people who created that material, and what happens to the original work when it becomes part of a much larger system.

As an artist, I think about this a lot.

Books contain more than information. They contain the work of people who spent years learning, observing, researching, writing, illustrating, and revising. Some were published by major companies. Others were produced by independent creators who poured their savings, time, and energy into getting their work out into the world.

When creative work is used to develop AI systems without appropriate permission, transparency, or compensation, we have to ask who benefits and who gets left behind.

The concern isn't simply that AI can produce something resembling a book.

It's that the people who created the original work may have little control over how it is used, while the systems built from that work can compete with them in the marketplace.

For independent artists and writers, that isn't an abstract debate. Our work is how we make a living, develop our craft, and contribute something original to the world.

We should be able to discuss the benefits of new technology without pretending that the costs don't exist.

There is another issue that worries me: the preservation of knowledge.

Digital information can be incredibly useful, but digital access isn't the same thing as permanent preservation. Files can be lost, platforms can disappear, websites can change, and digital collections can become inaccessible. Physical books can also be damaged or destroyed, of course, which is why libraries and archives need proper care and preservation practices.

The point is that no single format should be our only safeguard.

We should preserve books, protect archives, maintain trustworthy records, and make sure future generations can access the work that came before them.

And when we use AI generated summaries or answers to learn about history, science, or culture, we should still care about where that information came from, whether it can be verified, and what evidence supports it.

I don't believe we should assume that every AI system will deliberately rewrite history or manipulate people. That would be too sweeping a claim.

But I do believe that concentrated control over information deserves scrutiny.

If people rely on a small number of platforms to tell them what happened, what matters, and which sources they should trust, we need ways to question those platforms and check their claims.

Original sources matter. Independent archives matter. Libraries matter. The freedom to read different perspectives matters.

A society that stops asking where its information comes from becomes easier to mislead.

And a society that loses access to its records becomes less equipped to challenge those who tell it what the past supposedly was.

Why Equilibrium still makes me uneasy

Whenever I think about the relationship between art, books, and control, I remember the film Equilibrium.

In that dystopian world, human emotions are treated as a threat, and art, literature, and other expressions of humanity are suppressed because they can awaken feelings that the authorities want to control.

It's an extreme fictional scenario, but that's what makes it effective.

The film asks a question that goes beyond whether people are allowed to own books: what happens when those in power decide that certain human experiences are too dangerous for people to have?

Stories can make us angry about injustice. They can help us empathize with people whose lives are different from ours. They can challenge beliefs we've held for years or introduce us to possibilities we never considered.

Art can comfort us, disturb us, and make us question the world around us.

That is precisely why it matters.

As an artist, I don't want to create stories that merely fill someone's spare time. I want to make work that stays with people after they've finished reading it. I want my stories to make people curious about their own world, their culture, their fears, and the things they believe.

That is part of what I'm trying to do with Zamora, a horror graphic novel rooted in Filipino mythology, supernatural beliefs, and the uneasy relationship between faith and fear.

Horror lets us explore difficult questions through monsters, nightmares, and the things that lurk in the dark. Sometimes, the monster isn't just a creature to defeat. It's a reflection of something we don't want to confront.

And that is one of the things stories can do that a simple summary often cannot.

They allow us to experience an idea emotionally before we decide what we think about it.

We shouldn't need to live in a dystopia to understand why the freedom to create, read, and question is worth protecting.

The Solution: Keep Books Alive, Starting With the People Around You

So, what do we do?

I don't think the answer is to shame people for watching videos, listening to podcasts, or using AI. That would be a strange position for someone who works across comics, animation, and digital media.

Different formats serve different purposes. A video can explain something brilliantly. An audiobook can make a story accessible to someone who struggles with printed text. Digital books can bring entire libraries to people who might not have a physical library nearby.

The goal isn't to force everyone to consume media the way I did as a child.

The goal is to make sure books remain available, valued, and part of our cultural life.

And I think we can start with a few practical things.

1. Make books visible at home

My daughter noticed my books because they were right there on the shelves.

That small moment reminded me that children often encounter the habits of adults before they understand the reasons behind them.

If we want kids to develop an interest in reading, books should be part of their environment. Keep some where they can reach them. Let them choose what interests them. Read together, even if it's only for ten minutes before bedtime.

And don't worry too much about whether they choose the books you would choose.

A child who wants to read about dinosaurs, superheroes, robots, or ridiculous talking animals is still discovering the pleasure of reading.

The objective isn't to raise a tiny literary critic.

It's to help them associate books with curiosity and enjoyment rather than another obligation imposed by adults.

I want my daughter to see me reading, drawing, and learning, not just sitting in front of a screen all day. I want her to understand that adults are still curious about the world and still have things to discover.

I can't guarantee she'll grow up loving books as much as I do.

But I can allow her to find out.

2. Read beyond what you already know

One of the things I loved about those old encyclopedias was that I could stumble across something unexpected.

That kind of discovery is easy to lose when our information is filtered through personalized feeds and recommendations designed around what we've already shown an interest in.

So, occasionally, choose something outside your usual interests.

If you're an illustrator, read about history, architecture, biology, or philosophy. If you're a writer, study visual art or music. If you make games, read about mythology, psychology, or the history of the places that inspire your worlds.

You don't have to turn every book into a project or a productivity exercise.

Read because you're curious.

As an artist, I've learned that inspiration doesn't always come from looking at more art. Sometimes it comes from understanding something about the world that changes how you see your subject.

A book about insects might influence the design of a monster. A historical account might inspire a character's backstory. A story about another culture might help you recognize assumptions you didn't realize you were making.

The more you learn about the world, the more material you have to work with when creating your own.

3. Support the people who make books

If you value books, support the people who create and preserve them.

Buy a book from an independent author when you can. Visit your local library. Borrow books and return them in good condition. Recommend a title to a friend. Attend a book fair, comic convention, or literary event.

If you're an artist, consider publishing something of your own, even if it starts small.

You don't need to produce a 300 page graphic novel as your first project. You can make a short comic, a small zine, a collection of illustrations, or a little book about something you care about.

I know how much work goes into bringing a physical comic into the world. There's the writing, drawing, lettering, editing, layout, printing, and all the decisions that have to happen before someone can hold the finished book.

Publishing Zamora Volume 1 taught me that a story becomes something different when it exists as a physical object someone can take home.

It is no longer just a file on my computer or an idea I talk about. It's a book that can sit on someone's shelf, be passed to a friend, or be rediscovered years later.

That doesn't make print inherently superior to digital publishing. Both have value.

But it reminded me that physical books are worth making and worth keeping.

If we want independent voices to survive, we have to give readers opportunities to discover and support them.

4. Preserve the stories that matter to your culture

This one is especially important to me as a Filipino storyteller.

Our myths, legends, oral histories, local traditions, and regional stories deserve to be documented, shared, and preserved. Some stories survive because families tell them to their children. Others are recorded in books, archives, research papers, and creative works.

Each form has a role to play.

When we preserve a story, we preserve more than a sequence of events. We preserve how people understood the world, what frightened them, what they valued, and how they made sense of the unknown.

That doesn't mean every traditional account must be treated as literal historical fact. Folklore can be symbolic, religious, imaginative, or shaped by generations of retelling.

Its cultural value remains significant.

This is one of the reasons I continue to build Zamora around Filipino mythology and supernatural traditions. I want to take inspiration from the stories and beliefs that have shaped our culture and explore them through a contemporary horror universe.

I'm not trying to replace the original stories or claim ownership of an entire tradition.

I'm trying to contribute another interpretation, one that encourages readers to become curious about the culture, creatures, and ideas behind the fiction.

The more we document and discuss our stories, the more opportunities future generations have to learn from them, question them, reinterpret them, and create something new.

Preservation isn't about freezing culture in place.

It's about giving it a chance to continue.

5. Give reading a place in your creative routine

As a freelance artist, my days can easily get swallowed by client deadlines, revisions, and the next task that needs to be finished yesterday.

It's tempting to treat reading as something I'll do when I have more time.

But that imaginary day when everything is finished rarely arrives.

So, rather than making reading another enormous goal, make it small enough to fit into the life you already have.

Read a few pages before work. Keep a book beside your desk. Read while waiting for an appointment. Visit a library when you have the opportunity. Choose a book you genuinely want to read instead of one you think you ought to read.

You don't have to finish fifty books a year.

You don't have to turn reading into another competition with strangers on the internet.

You just have to make room for it.

For artists, reading can be part of the creative process. It gives you new references, different ways of thinking, and the occasional idea that sends your project in an unexpected direction.

And sometimes, it gives you something even more useful: a chance to slow down and pay attention.

Before and After: From Taking Books for Granted to Preserving What They Give Us

Before my daughter asked about the books on my shelves, I wasn't thinking about my childhood encyclopedias or those afternoons spent in a university library.

They were simply memories from growing up.

But her questions reminded me that the things we take for granted can shape us in ways we only recognize years later.

I grew up with books within reach. They gave me places to explore, subjects to discover, and images that helped feed my imagination. Today, I make comics, animation, and original stories partly because I still believe in the power of imagination to connect people with ideas and experiences beyond their own lives.

Now I have a daughter of my own, and I have to think about what kind of creative world we're leaving for her.

She'll grow up with technologies I never had as a child. Some of them will be wonderful. Others will raise questions we haven't fully answered yet.

I don't want her to fear technology. I want her to understand it, question it, and use it thoughtfully.

But I also want her to know that not everything valuable needs to be fast, automated, or optimized for convenience.

Sometimes, you need to sit with a book.

Sometimes, you need to turn a page, look at an illustration, and wonder about something you didn't know existed.

Sometimes, the most important thing you can do is read an idea that challenges you instead of one that confirms what you already believe.

And sometimes, a book becomes part of your life long before you understand why it matters.

The Last Page

I still think about that little library at my parents' home. I think about those encyclopedias, the university library, and the hours I spent reading things simply because they interested me.

I think about the books on my shelves now, and the little girl who noticed them while I was working.

Maybe one day she'll have a shelf full of books of her own. Maybe she'll prefer comics, digital books, audiobooks, or something that hasn't been invented yet.

That's fine.

What matters is that she has access to stories, ideas, and knowledge, and the freedom to decide what she thinks about them.

As an artist, I want to keep making stories worth reading. As a father, I want to make sure my daughter has the chance to discover stories that matter to her. And as a Filipino creator, I want to help preserve and reinterpret the cultural stories that deserve to be passed on.

We don't have to reject the future to protect what matters from the past.

We can embrace new tools while defending the rights of creators. We can enjoy videos and podcasts while making room for books.

The future doesn't have to be a choice between technology and humanity.

But we have to decide what we refuse to lose along the way.

I keep coming back to a line associated with Doctor Who and its Tenth Doctor:

"The greatest weapon humanity has is books."

Whether you interpret that as a statement about knowledge, imagination, resistance, or empathy, the idea stays with me.

Books help us remember. They help us question. They let us encounter lives beyond our own.

And they give the next generation something to build upon.

So, maybe the best thing I can do is keep my books on the shelves, keep making my comics, keep reading, and let my daughter see that curiosity is something worth holding on to.

Who knows? Maybe one day she'll look at my collection again and ask why her own books aren't stacked as neatly as mine.

And maybe I'll have to laugh and admit that, by then, hers have taken over the entire room.

I can live with that.

Because a future filled with curious kids, well loved books, and stories waiting to be discovered sounds like a future worth building.

Keep reading. Keep creating. And don't let the stories disappear.