I don't mean are you a book snob, like me, and would never deign to allow a Harlequin Romance anywhere near even the aura of your Octavio Paz and Umberto Eco. That rant is for another day. I mean tangibly. What is your physical relationship like with your books?
I love my books. I find it very difficult to part with them, having read them. I rarely give books away. Never throw them away. I burned one once because it had reached its end and the trash bin was just not right, somehow. It was George Orwell's 1984. Friend of mine commented that had it been Fahrenheit 451, it would have been really cool. Even so, the reference to the incinerator in 1984 was enough to make it an austere occasion.
That said, I'm no fussy book owner. My books are survivors. Likely this is at the core of my bond. I take my books with me everywhere. Whatever I am currently reading is usually stuffed in my purse at the ready for any down time. This means it crashes into keys, rubs against zippers, and sometimes even gets sweated on by water thermoses. I eat while reading at restaurants, I sit with them at Doctors' offices, I fall asleep and they get buried amongst pillows and one affectionate dog. They get left in cars, the backyard, and work bags. They get stacked up with the mail, the laundry, and the piles of other books that are still finding a home.
I used to think that books were to be treasured. That one should be delicate with them. But I've come to understand over time that books are sturdy and they can take it, both physically and metaphorically. I always remember Ms. Neighbor's pursed lips when I fold down a corner to save my place. My 7th grade teacher would scold and show us her wrath if we didn't use a book marker. But book markers always fall out. Yeah, they have those new paper clip ones or the ones that are magnets, and blah blah blah. Yeah, whatever, just fold the damned corner. The world won't end.
As for writing in them. I used to think this was a big no-no. And then one day I really thought about it. Why not? What, exactly, is at the basis of this rule? Respect for belongings? Well, it's my belonging, so don't I get to decide how to use it? It's an object. It's not going to get hurt. Hell, it's paper; it's practically begging to be written on. So I no longer have any hang ups about writing in mine, though I rarely do. It's just that now it's not about any kind of principle so much as it is a lack of anything to say, most of the time. I have a friend who writes in her books all the time. Big sprawling notes in red, and black or whatever the hell colored pen she happens to have at the moment. There's no hesitation in her approach. She has no qualms about squishing her thoughts along the margins and between lines. Deep, heavy writing. It fills me with joy to watch her do it. You go, girl!
So, after days by my side, coming to work with me, having crackers and tomato juice at the table, getting sprayed by the sprinklers in the backyard, and taking on dozens of dog ears, it's no wonder I've bonded with the little guys. They may not be treated like royalty, but they are very much loved and given a place near and dear to my heart. Any corner of any shelf or surface will do. One day they will make it into hands of friends or a local library for others to enjoy them. Meanwhile, they've become a part of me.
I read enough that if the lyeberry didn't exist, I'd be broke, living in a house made of books. So I don't buy many, and thus don't own many. Some books, most books, I'd give away. I've owned six different copies of William Manchester's Pacific war memoir Goodbye Darkness because I've given it away that many times. If you are wondering, it's a book that goes into the reasons men stay and fight in combat, when you would think instinctually you would avoid it at all possible costs.
ReplyDeleteI have a just a few keepers I care about, maybe ten total, that are treated with a certain reverence because I want to keep them as intact as possible for when it is time to re-read them. The rest are pretty dispensible.
I dog-ear pages not to mark my place, but to mark someting I want to come back to, a phrase or sentence or paragraph that has some meaning. I mark it, then copy it down into a journal later. I wait til I'm done so I can do it all at once and not interrupt the flow of my reading; a book often has as many as a dozen marked passages and I don't ant to break to write those down at that moment. I do this with lyeberry books too. So to mark my place, I snobbishly use one of my several leather bookmarks. Or a piece of scrap paper. Depends how many books I have going at one time.
To answer the conundrum, I sing to myself all the time. We sing a lot at our household, so I've probably sung to someone else some time within the last week or so.
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