After putting my wife and sons off for too long, I finally gave in. My own Blackberry was hardly working, and they enjoyed none of the features they wanted in a phone. We switched services and purchased new devices. I like my Droid Maxx, but as I toggle from text to email and Youtube to Google Play I noticed something curious. On the one hand, I have wonderfully easy access to a wide range of digital content—different forms of expression that, once upon a time, each came with its own delivery system. On the other hand, digital flattens—everything appears the same as everything else. There is a sense in which a book loses its bookness as text—a subject explored in David Streitfeld's recent article in The New York Times, "Out of Print, Maybe, but Not Out of Mind" (Dec. 1, 2013). I am not using this column, though, to fuss about books. Rather, I want to point you to yet another article, this one in the New Yorker, and what it may imply for us. In “Blockbuster: Who Needs Hits?” (Dec. 2, 2013) Kelefa Sanneh considers several books about media sales and hits—music, films, and a nod to books. As he points out, the promise of the digital world was that it fell under Chris Anderson's “long-tail” theory. That is, since so much material was now available in digital and would stay in “digital availability,” if not print, for a good while, the “big hit,” whether it would be a song, film, or book, would not be quite so big. Instead of being swamped by the latest blockbuster we would all be able to follow our own interests; "niches" of interests would develop, and we would move away from the one huge cluster. As Sanneh notes, Anita Elberse in Blockbusters: Hit-making, Risk-taking, and the Big Business of Entertainment (Holt, 2013) points out that's not how it’s going. Think of our world. First we had the “Harry Potter” titles, then, the “Twilight” series, followed by “The Hunger Games” trilogy. Are we seeing signs that the Big Book that becomes the Big Movie, and the Big Theme Park (not to mention action figures, fast-food trinkets, graphic-novel adaptations, clothing lines, and archery lessons….) is shrinking in importance? No, just the opposite. Think of the author tour—I do, since I am a writer. At one time a bookstore signing had some significance. Now, unless you have lots of local friends and family, or if you are so famous that the shop needs you more than you need it, there is hardly any reason to go on tour. A visit to a store only makes sense if you are also interviewed, are featured in several blogs, have three school visits lined up—buzz across enough media that your physical presence is just an aspect of your digital aura. So far the digital world has made big even bigger. And where does that leave those of us who select material to share with young people?  On the one hand, we need to respect the crush of popularity. There is no way to avoid the holds that will come with the big and bigger book, film, or app. The flattening effect that I referred to above, sweeps all before it. If something is popular it is often popular in so many formats that it is literally irresistible. But then there is everything else. What do we stand for? What treasures can we discover in the long-tail? What connections to books, films, and music can we make possible for our patrons who might otherwise be blinded by the blockbusters? Fostering connections is hardly a new role for the librarian. But it is important to notice our cultural moment: the promise that the digital world would be inherently more diverse (or would make it easier to find and share a greater range of offerings) is being eclipsed by the power of BIG. And what does that make us?  Beacons–illuminating pathways to hidden riches amidst the bombast and clamor of the Hit Parade. Shine on.