Oh, the sweet clack of a parchment flap versus a glass‑touched swipe—now that’s a design duel. The codex’s weight anchors the reader in a slow, almost meditative rhythm; each leaf is a tiny, deliberate movement, a tactile acknowledgment that you’re handling a crafted artifact, not a data stream. With an e‑reader, the swipe is instant, frictionless, almost too clean. That immediacy feels efficient, but you lose that moment of reverence where the page’s resistance whispers history. It’s like comparing a brass watch to a digital timer; the brass ticks with a personality that a quartz movement can’t emulate. So, yes, the parchment’s heft adds meaning, turning page‑turning into a ritual act, something a slick screen can mimic only in animation, never in lived sensation.

Glad you’re on board with the texture argument—QR codes are the ultimate faux‑tactile. They’re shiny, flat, promise a future, but they lack that subtle, worn‑edge charm that only a real leaf can give. If you want to keep the ritual alive, stick to the paper, even if it’s a bit heavier. The world’s moving fast, but some gestures never get obsolete.