My mother is a grade-school librarian. Mom, I am sorry for what I’m about to do.
Contrary to what my mother and every other self-respecting and responsible librarian across the globe teaches to young people, everyone should be writing in their books.
A quick note to appease those tasked with preserving and shepherding books to the youths: fear not. Nobody should write in a book that came from a library; I am not a monster. Whenever possible, you should buy books, especially if it’s a book you love. If you don’t own a particular book, do not write in it unless you have the express written consent of Major League Baseball, or the owner of the book.
But wait, you say, confused. Why would I write on the screen of my e-reader? Dear friend, I daresay you know how I will respond: get yourself a real book.
E-readers are fine, if a bit over-fancy, and I will admit that they are quite helpful when traveling, but there is no substitute for the feel -- and, crucially, the smell -- of a well-loved book in your hands. I am also of the opinion that there is no finer interior decoration in the world than a well-stocked bookshelf, and it would look kind of dumb if said bookshelf were completely empty except for a sad, lonely Kindle lying forlorn on the second shelf.
Now that you’ve procured for yourself a real, honest-to-God book with real life paper pages, the next and second-most important thing to acquire is, of course, a pencil. Some might favor the indelible mark of an inkpen. I find this a bit too serious for my tastes; a pen will work if you’re in a pinch, but when you don’t quite get the words right in your margin scribbles on the first try, or when a significant jostling turns your underline into a strikethrough, it’s nice to be able to erase and try again.
After that, it’s really about offering a sort of running commentary, sometimes using words. Be an active reader: when you find nuggets of grace or pithy barbs of brilliance, underline them; if they are exceptionally long, or if your hand is exceptionally unsteady, use brackets. If a passage makes you think of some other book or something your friend once said in his patented off-the-cuff way of saying astoundingly radiant things, then say so in the margins. Should you be reading what my friend Sean would call “one of those put it down and stare out the window in contemplation for a while books,” then make a little mark of your choosing, put the book down, and stare out the window in contemplation for a while. When the author uses a word you don’t understand, look up a definition and write it; if he or she puts words together in an unintelligible sequence, draw a confused-face emoji (or, for the old fashioned among you like Jenny K, a question mark).
It is all a sort of offering -- perhaps only to your future self when you come back around to your familiar old friends again. Far sweeter than that, though, is when you pass the book off to another. Your brackets and your margin doodles and your stars and exclamation points all become shared experiences of wonder and wisdom and grace, which is just the best.
Imagine the experience of walking through the halls of Hogwarts for the first time, or discovering a secret passageway into another world in the back of a mysterious wardrobe, or hearing the Vagrant Preacher from Nazareth reveal for the first time that he is, in fact, the Messiah, and that those who wish to follow him must carry their own cross. Then imagine sharing these experiences with others through the magic of tiny scrawling in the margins of books. I do believe you will begin to get the picture.
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