Daily Bookshot: The Perilous Presence of Pencils

The Perilous Presence of Pencils, originally uploaded by Robert Burdock.

The purpose of today’s bookshot isn’t so much to showcase one of my latest reads – The Education of a British-Protected Child by Chinua Achebe (Allen Lane) – as to highlight a significant turning point in the way I interact with the printed word. This is big for me everybody. This is BIG!

Ever since I can remember (probably from about age 4), I’ve always had it drummed into me to have total respect towards my books, and to keep them in mint condition. Indoctrinated with this ‘rule of reverence’ it has served me well, because here I am in my early 40s and almost every read book in my library looks as good as it did the first time I picked it up. In fact many people have come by my home and have told me just how unread the books in my library look, and that’s a comment that usually fills me with much pride.

During most of my adult life with books though, two things have always bothered me. The first relates to the fact that I’m totally into the benefits of ‘active reading’; the practice of annotating, identifying and highlighting passages etc. so that one can become more closely engaged with the text and be able to learn to a greater depth. At university ‘active reading’ was always a main focus on mine – especially when I was engaged in such a book-centric degree as Mediaeval History and Archaeology – but never once could I bring myself to ‘damage’ a book. Instead I would practise the ‘art’ of active reading by using post-it notes, notebooks and tags during my first year, before switching almost entirely to a more computer-based operation, using electronic versions of books (which often involved scanning copies of my own books) and annotating them electronically using a Tablet PC. I could therefore satisfy my desire for active reading, but not in a complete sense.

The second thing that’s bothered me throughout adulthood is actually in contradiction to what I said before – about feeling a sense of complete pride at having what looks to be an unread library. In terms of aesthetics I am proud of owning such a pristine collection of books, but at the end of the day does a library that looks unread not also look a bit unloved? And without sounding in any way pretentious what of the legacy I pass on to my children? They may one day be inheriting a library which they will be able to sell on easily due to the perfect condition of the books, but what if their intention instead, is to hang on to something of their father within those books? What essence of me does my library carry with it?

So how does this bookshot today mark a turning point? How is my interaction with books going to change from this day forward? Well first and foremost I should make it clear that I’m not going to start wantonly throwing around my books, ripping out pages. cracking the spines on them etc. I never could do anything like that and I never will. Rather the pencils you see in this shot are the key, because this book is going to stand as the first book into which I write my first pencil scribblings (note I said ‘pencil’ because ink will always be a ‘no go’).

That’s right fellow reader from this day forward I’m going to start directly interacting more with my books; having conversations with the author, writing questions to myself, rewriting portions of the text, adding the odd written addendum; in fact everything that I’ve ever done to my books electronically, only this time it’s the real thing . In other words – the words of Anne Fadiman in Ex Libris – this is the day that I turn my ‘courtly’ love for books into something a little more ‘carnal’.

Does this new direction in ‘book love’ mean I’ve lost my reverence for books? Absolutely not! If anything I now think that my reverence towards my books has increased, because now I feel I’m making myself a part of the book at the same time the book is becoming a part of me. What better show of reverence can there be than that? And should future generations of the Burdocks wish to get in touch in touch with one of their ancestors of the past? Well all they’ll have to do is open one my old and dusty books and there I’ll be, in all of my unimpressive glory .

So this partial change of attitude towards my books represents a huge paradigm shift for me, and I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject. Are you a pristine book keeper who would never, ever consider scribbling on the pages of your books, or like Anne Fadiman do you consider the words to be more precious than the ‘vehicle’ which carries them? If you do write notes in your own books what do you write about and why? Do you like the idea of a little piece of you living on in some of your favourite books, for future generations to ‘converse’ with? Let me know your thoughts in the comments section below.