Unpopular opinion: I dog-ear my book pages. I scribble my thoughts down in the margins. Sometimes I even –brace yourself– use a pen.
I know, I know. As a book lover, I should treat every page like a sacred text, handled with care and no trace of my ownership. I should be against any practice that “damages” a book.
But here’s the thing: I don’t think these habits ruin books. If anything, they bring them to life. These habits infuse the books with the reader’s personality and history.
When I see a page that has been dog-eared in a book, it’s an invitation for me to think about all the people who have read this book before me. Oftentimes, when I am thrifting for books, I will look for books that have been well-loved.
There is nothing more personal to me than seeing someone’s thoughts and feelings about a book in the margins. I don’t care if you write “lol” next to a quip from the main character or a bad drawing of an emoji next to a shocking twist. Each word from the hand to the page is an insight into the reader’s mind.
While this is a long-held opinion of mine, I have never heard it put more eloquently than when Hozier sang it in Lucy Dacus’s song “Bullseye”.
He sings:
“I’ll miss borrowin’ your books to read your notes in the margin
Hozier in “Bullseye” by Lucy Dacus
The closest I came to readin’ your mind”
It’s intimate to know a person’s thoughts about what they are consuming. I especially think this when it is a favorite piece of literature.
I have given annotated books as gifts many times. Not only am I giving someone a story that I think they will enjoy but also my thoughts and reactions. It’s like a guide to understanding why I think they will like the story.
There is a common belief among book lovers that books should be left to look untouched –no folded corners, no scribbled thoughts, and definitely no broken spines. Some argue that books should remain in the pristine condition that they were first printed in; that dog-earing is an act of carelessness or that annotating is unnecessary.
I get it. There is something undeniably beautiful about a crisp new book, with its smooth pages and unbroken spine. But does keeping a book in perfect condition make it more meaningful? Does it have any other value than to stop creativity and preserve aesthetics?
A book that has been annotated, broken in, dog-eared, and well-worn has a story beyond just that which is written on the pages. A note in the margin reveals the reader’s thoughts. An underlined paragraph shows where someone found meaning and connection. A folded page marks a pause where someone had to pause, maybe in shock, or maybe just because life interrupted their reading.
These so-called “damaging” practices are what make a book uniquely yours.
Books are made to be interacted with, not to sit on your bookshelf as if in a glass case. Every note in the margin is a conversation between the reader and the author.
Carry that book in your backpack, even if it may get a little beat up.
Take that book off your shelf and break in the spine.