Some people handle books so tenderly that even after they've read it cover to cover it looks untouched. They turn each page carefully, and always use bookmarks. They refrain from cracking the spine. They never nosh as they read, so the pages aren't dotted with red sauce or spotted with chocolate. And they wouldn't dream of leaving a book lying around where their Yorkie-poo (or their toddler) might nibble the corners.
I am not like that.
When I read a book, I move right in and make myself at home. I dog-ear pages, underline, highlight, and make marginal notes. I'll use the blank pages to make shopping lists or jot down phone numbers. At the ball park, I've been known to use that space to list the opening line-ups of both teams.
By the time I'm through reading a book, you can definitely tell that I've been there.
Of course, I treat library books more carefully than I do my own books. After all, they have to last through many readers. And, as someone who works in a public library, I expect you to do the same. I might dog-ear the pages of the books I check out, but I refrain from writing in them. (Or I'll make lightly penciled notes in the margins, which I'll erase before returning.) Unlike some of our patrons, I don't read library books in the tub. (And if I did, and they fell in, I wouldn't sneak the water-logged book into the book drop and hope nobody noticed.)
Our patrons return library books not only waterlogged, but heavily underlined, stained with last night's supper, gummed by toddlers, colored in by 3-year-olds and chewed up by dogs. (It isn't unusual for our books about puppy training to come back to us graced with at least a few teeth marks.)
Did you know that there are actually folks who correct -- in ink-- the spelling and grammatical errors they find in their library books? I'm one librarian who welcomes this behavior. The way I see it, these unsung heroes, by maintaining standards of literacy in an age of creeping Twitter-speak, are performing a valuable public service.
I try to return my library books in the same condition they were in when I checked them out. But when it comes to my personal library? I strip off the jacket! I crack the spine! I fold over corners. I underline. I don't hesitate to leave my mark.
I happen to think that makes a book happy. Some of my best relationships have been with books. And who, in a relationship, wants to always be handled with kid gloves? I don't want to remain untouched by a book. Why should the book want to remain untouched by me?
If I were a book, I'd welcome underlining. It's not disrespect. It's affirmation. It's a reader saying “Yes! Thanks! I agree! You rock!”
And folding over a page corner? It doesn't say “I don't care.“ It says “I'll be back.”
My mother, from whom I got my love of reading, never saw eye to eye with me about this. Growing up, whenever she caught me folding over a page corner to mark my place, she'd say, “Use a book mark!” and hand me a slip of paper, a napkin or a file card.
It was a losing battle. To this day, I shun bookmarks. But I'd never think of discouraging you, the library patron, from using them. Not because I'm tender-hearted about page corners. But because those of us who work in public libraries are so entertained by the stuff the reading public uses to mark their places with, then forgets to remove when the book is returned.
Airline tickets. Grocery coupons. Money! (I once found a fifty in a copy of “Get Rich Quick.”) Family photos. Nudie photos. A marijuana leaf. A slice of wrapped cheese. Love letters. Once, even, a cherry-flavored condom. (Thankfully, unopened and still in the wrapper.)
Then there was the furious, heart-felt letter written by one of our patrons to her spouse, detailing every despicable thing he'd done during the course of their marriage, which fell out of a just returned copy of “Coping with Infidelity.“ Was it signed? You bet.
Think about her the next time you're tempted to grab a less than dignified photo of your hubby or a steamy love letter from your sweetie to mark your place in a library book.
Then play it safe and fold over the page corner.
Oh, the wonderful memories of marking other people's books! Alas, I have been trained by two consecutive husbands to not mark books on pain of severe disdain (even when I'm the one who owns the books!), so I use colored plastic flags instead. The things we do for love. *
Money? 'Scuze me. I'm headed for the library. *
"Did you know that there are actually folks who correct -- in ink-- the spelling and grammatical errors they find in their library books?"
Yeah, I'm that person. I also correct errors in flyers and brochures I get in the mail and send them back to the companies.
Well Roz, like you I'm hard on the books I own. Some which I have read and marked up numerous times (Walden, Moby Dick, Homer, Alexandra Quartet, Chemins de Liberte) and are falling completely apart have been replaced with new copies. BUT, I only read the old copies carefully collating the pages after each session. The new ones just lack the personality and information, cross references, definitions, maps, drawings et al of the old faithfuls.
As a voracious reader and text annotator, I love this piece. *
PS Yes I correct factual errors in texts.
I enjoyed the idea of making a book happy! I have occasionally been chastised for my spine-bending, dog-earing ways, but it's good to know the book liked it.
Great slant -
"If I were a book, I'd welcome underlining. It's not disrespect. It's affirmation."
It's slipping from us even as we see it go. Enjoyed the piece. *
Awesome and funny! I'm not a page corner turner or underliner - too many library books from early childhood that were to be left "better than when I got them" but my partner is and it is a great humility for me to see his markings as loving ones. Your essay helps.