Never a lender be

On and off for the past couple of months, I’ve been reading a collection of essays by Anne Fadiman. I can’t believe I hadn’t heard of “Ex Libris: Confessions of a Common Reader” until recently because it is a collection of essays about BOOKS. And reading books.

One of my favorites is a piece in which Fadiman describes two types of book lovers: those who like to keep their books in pristine condition (the courtly lovers), and those who think a well worn book is a sign of a well loved book (the carnal lovers). She falls into the latter category, I am firmly in the former.

According to Fadiman, although the words in a book are “holy,” “the paper, cloth, cardboard, glue, thread and ink that contained them were a mere vessel, and it was no sacrilege to treat them as wantonly as desire and pragmatism dictated.”

I could not disagree more. I love my books as objects. Like the hotel chambermaid who admonishes Fadiman’s brother “You must never do that to a book,” when he leaves a book spreadeagled on the nightstand, I would never break a book’s spine, dog-ear the pages or (gasp) write on them.

I learned the hard way that not everyone is compulsive about taking care of books: When I was in 6th grade, a really annoying classmate named Rachel borrowed my copy of “The Runner,” by Cynthia Voight, and returned it essentially shredded. I was so mad, but my timid 12-year-old self couldn’t muster the courage to protest. A year later, I nearly stopped speaking to one of my friends when she returned “The Clan of the Cave Bear” with the front cover completely creased.

The lesson I have taken from this is, don’t lend books! Or at the very least, engage the borrower in an Israeli-army-style interrogation of their attitudes towards books. Courtly lovers are welcome to borrow, page-folders, stay away!