I gifted a nonfiction book to a friend I knew she’d like. She texted me to say she was loving it, so much so she’d actually dog-eared a couple of pages so she could come back to them later.
I texted back: “Books are not sacred. Dog-ear it, underline it, write in the margins, put stars next to sentences you like. A book is an agreement and a connection between reader and writer.”
I’ve come to understand a book is not complete when it’s published, it’s only complete when it’s read. It only comes fully to life when the reader brings their own experiences and opinions to the story or information. A book is a dialogue between reader and writer, so go ahead and “talk” with your dog-ears and scribbles.
I didn’t always feel this way. I was raised to revere books. They were precious items to be treated with respect, stored carefully, and saved forever in your personal library. I still believe that books, like any piece of art, deserve respect but I no longer view them as sacred.
In offering up my house as a repository for good literature, I overtaxed every bookcase I own. Shelves were sagging under the weight of so many volumes, some books were stacked two-deep so you couldn’t even see the ones behind, others were piled up in falling-over stacks. As much as I adored my book collection, I came to realize not only was so much clutter not…
