I have always wanted to be a person with a magic bag. You know the kind—they dump their tote/purse/satchel/bag of holding out on a table, and everything you’d ever need and 15 things you didn’t know you wanted come spilling out. There are surprises, and sometimes cash. It seems very magical to me, a person who pulls a bag out of the closet, puts the four things I absolutely have to have in it, and leaves the house. I have tried to be a magic bag person, but I get twitchy. Those things should be put in their right places! And what if I want to carry a different bag?
This feels, in a way I cannot precisely pinpoint, akin to the way I feel about books, and the things you might find in them. Notes, underlines, passages marked with multiple exclamation points. Postcards, receipts, love notes. Post-its with chicken-scratched mini-manifestos, concert tickets, movie ticket stubs.
A bit of hypocrisy: I would love to be a person who writes in books, but I hate it when I buy a used book and discover someone else’s notes or highlights. I don’t want their moments of emphasis, their important lines, their opinions, overlaid on my own. It feels like reading one of those websites where random sentences and snippets have been put in boldface type, to draw your eye; it is virtually impossible to read those sentences in the order their authors intended.
And yet there is something about writing in books—about making your books your own—that speaks to me. Yes, it’s just a simple thing, a little note here, an underline, an emphasis. Just do it! the people who think there is a simple answer to everything might cry.
I can’t.
I have tried. I put so many post-its in one collection of Ursula K. Le Guin’s essays that I eventually did give up and just started underlining, but then, is there a point to underlining when you are underlining sentences on every page? At what point are you just saying to yourself, Yes, yes, cram this into my brain, make it stay there, please? At what point should I simply start transcribing most of the essay into the commonplace book I am also trying and failing to keep?
A commonplace book seemed, to me, a good middle ground between wanting to be a person who writes in their books and absolutely failing to be that person. The idea, as I understand it, is that you write in the book things that you would like to remember: quotes, great lines, what have you. I’m sure this is very effective for some, and possibly more so if one did not foolishly buy two very nice pens with which to write things in one’s nice notebook (one color for the quotes, one for the attributions) and then decide that one’s handwriting is so messy that it’s sullying the beauty of the words one is trying to write down.
And herein lies the problem: I cannot get past the feeling that I am messing up my books. They’re mine, yes. It should be fine if I mess them up with my rusty handwriting and my mundane observations. It is fine if anyone else does that; it is not fine if I do. I have one or two books that used to belong to my stepfather, and I keep them because they are full of his notes. Will I ever read The Will to Power cover to cover? Uncertain. But I know his scribbles are in there, his thoughts, the things that mattered to him. And so the book matters to me a great deal.
Some part of me knows why I can’t do it: it’s a long-lived habit born of years spent never quite having exactly the things I wanted to have. It’s the same impulse as buying a nice article of clothing and then never wearing it, because I’m “saving” it for some special occasion that may never arrive. Some part of me balks, not wanting to mess up the books I have so carefully collected and moved across the country (twice). But is it messing up a book to write in it? Or is it just making it your own?
Once in a very rare while, you might pick up a book in a bookstore and find something falling out of it. A note, a bookmark from a place you’ve never been. A postcard, once, addressed to someone named Paul. A well-worn paperback hidden among the brand-new books in a small store, a little story inscribed in the inside front cover. The only books I’ve managed to write in are the ones I read in college; I wrote the class titles and semesters inside the back covers. I still know, without looking at my scribbles, what classes and years those books were from. I made my little mark and I marked them in my memory at the same time.
Sometimes there is value in doing the things it feels so strange to do.
We are all capable of containing multitudes. I can believe that the important part of a book is the story within it, not the short-lived physical object, and yet still be essentially incapable of wanting to muck about with that object. I can think it is somewhat silly to decorate a home with unread books just because of how they look, and yet not want to take the dust jackets off my own books, even though I always, always take the damn things off when I’m reading them. I can want to find bits of magical ephemera in books, and still be afraid that if I stick anything even slightly meaningful in one of mine, it will be forgotten, lost forever.
I think there is a way—a dreamy way, a way I don’t know how to be—where a person’s library is more than just a library. Well, no: A person’s library is always more than just a stack of books, because it has been curated, chosen, weeded, winnowed down, expanded, selected, shaped. But I mean this more literally: Books can hold other things. I love the idea of keeping all one’s mementos in one’s beloved books—all those notes and tidbits and scraps of meaningful paper that accumulate in a lifetime; receipts from first dates and meaningful occasions, birthday cards, the terrible joke someone passed you in a meeting one day that you can never repeat but you still think of every time you think of Game of Thrones.
A collection of books is a collection of things, stories, ideas, characters that matter to you, right? But what if there were also your own things and stories and ideas, tucked in between the pages? Isn’t that what writing in books is, sort of? Isn’t it a way of pressing yourself between the pages?
When I taught English, I required my students to take notes in their books (though if they absolutely couldn’t bring themselves to do it, I would accommodate them). I told them that writing in books is a sign of respect and engagement. Though I am with you in not wanting to read other’s annotations!
I too am one of those people who likes the idea of writing in books but can’t actually bring myself to do it, even though they’re mine, and I think for much the same reason, not quite having exactly the things I wanted to have. And I think that might also explain those times when I didn’t feel bad about writing in books – namely, books I was required to read for school. I didn’t care about those books, so it was easier to write in them, highlight things.
And perhaps the fact that I am a re-reader contributes to my disinclination to write in my books; I don’t like reading others’ notes in books, not even past!me’s. (That said, sometimes I come across my own past ephemera and it’s something of a delight.)
It might also have something to do with genre. I just cannot write in a fiction book, but I’ve been checking certain nonfiction books out of the library – and obviously, I’m not going to write in a library book! – and felt the urge to take notes.
The idea of keeping mementoes in a book is cool! I’ve used restaurant receipts from vacation as bookmarks.
In school I did underline and write in books (even novels), but now I generally don’t (not even cookbooks, and use a hardback lined journal for commonly used recipes and any changes/reminders needed). A few of Hannah Arendt’s books are the exception, particularly Volume Three of The Origins of Totalitarianism, and usually it’s just a careful pencil line or a short note in pen. I have a lined journal that I’ve used as a commonplace book/writing prompt book (I should get back to that).
When I still read tree-books I used BookDarts to mark quotes for later transcription into the commonplace book. Arguing with the author via the book lost its appeal when I realized no matter how sulphurous an epithet I hurled at Ayn Rand, she would never see it, so why yell at clouds?
I rarely write in fiction books, but I do write in my technical books, including errata, working out formulas, and adding cross-references
John Adams, I read, wrote furiously in his books. I live about three blocks from Peacefield, so I suppose I could walk over and visit his library…
I sometimes write in mine, but I usually feel a little guilty about it.
I don’t underline or highlight because I find that makes rereading difficult for me, but marginal notes are a different story. I don’t do it often, but I have no qualms about it, and I’m generally entertained by other people’s comments.
Possibly the reason I don’t do more of this is that most of my reading material these days comes from the library, and I would never ever write in a library book. This though the most entertaining marginal notes I’ve ever seen were in a library book–a copy of Witches Still Live, by Theda Kenyon, copyright 1929, which I saw in a college library in the early 90s covered in notes in three different colors and at least four hands, all apparently Neopagans refuting the author’s conspiracy theories!
I started writing in my own books only a few years ago. But now I like the idea of writing my notes for my future self, so she can know what I was interested in now, what struck me when I read it that time, etc.
And then there’s the issue of what if you change your mind about what you wrote in it the last time you did a reread? :D
Now that I’m only reading e-books [combination of goofy eyes & mild arthritis], I find myself underlining & even writing some notes as never before. I enjoy seeing how many other folks have highlighted the same bits, wondering about who they were, and why they didn’t highlight some of the same bits that impressed me. It’s kind of like a community read-along. Rereading is an interesting dialogue with past!me, noticing what impressed me at the time and what impresses me this time around.
I have long had difficulty making notes in physical books, but on the e-reader, I tend to highlight and annotate pretty freely. I wish it were easier to collect all my notes, given the varied places I source my books. Goodreads is/was pretty good for Kindle books, but those are only a portion of my digital book diet.
I recently read a non-fiction book in dead-tree format for a book club and found myself vigorously making notes in my separate notebook (not sure if it counts as a “commonplace book” as that is a new term for me) with my fountain pen. It “helped” that I had plentiful disagreements with the author.
I love this article! Up until last year when I decided to start a book club with three of my best friends, I thought it was sacrilege for me to write in my own books, but like you, I loved seeing someone’s else’s notes that were important to me. I’ve been tabbing my favourite bits in books for years now, and it was a natural progression to start highlighting and underlining with my book club books. But, I’ve taken it a step farther and I now put little transparent sticky tabs with my notes on pages. It’s not writing on the book like my highlighting and underlining is, but my notes are in there. Maybe my next progression will be biting the bullet and just opening the actual pages! I have enjoyed picking up books I’ve read and look over my own notes though. Like a next step in the beautiful evolution of my own little library as a museum exhibition of my own life!
I make copy edits, even in library books. Most books have printing errors of some sort. (These days, rather than the obvious misprint, one is more likely to find misprints that have been “corrected” to the wrong word, and are harder to see.) My notes in my own books are usually on an end page, mainly referring to points I may want to find again. Memorable phrases, noteworthy points, errors of fact, and so on. When I gave my copy of Tom Friedman’s The World is Flat to the library for resale, I added a note on the title page mentioning that it was a very bad book. Someone had given me that book in a moment of confusion (I asked them about that, and they apologized); if it finds a home as a rescue book, that’s all right with me, though it’s an edge case. If it were an appliance I’d happily junk it, but I have a residual respect even for bad books. But that’s another question entirely.
Respectfully, many libraries have to discard books that have been written in. Even if it’s copy editing. If it’s marked, it’s out. And then they have to buy a new copy, which will probably still have the publishing error.
i adore watching annotation youtube videos, they’re so great to put on in the background.
However
That could never be me. i can’t help but think about after. Once you do all of that annotation and highlighting and writing and drawing and all that jazz, that book is inextricably yours and only yours. Who wants to read other people’s notes and feelings on a scene right there – not in a book club or in an email or anything like that, right there in the book as you’re reading it, distracting you from what you’re trying to read.
It’s fun and awesome for you but… Gogo recycling, i guess?
When a persons notes obscure the original text in the book, then the book has been ruined, as far as I am concerned. If the notes are kept neatly to the margins or other blank space in the book, then I don’t mind so much. Underlining also needs to be neat, so the original text can still be read.
I bought two copies of Lyrical Ballads 1798 and 1800. The poets Samuel Taylor Coleridge and William Wordsworth both contributed poems; Wordsworth published and kept it in print through several editions, ending about 1805. My first copy was quite sloppily annotated and underlined by a previous owner, some poems made illegible, hence the second purchase. The second copy is also annotated by a previous owner, but more neatly so.
Normally I would have scrapped that ruined copy. I was about to do so when I discovered that the binder had mistakenly bound some pages out of order. That error made the book more interesting, so I still have it.
NO. Writing in books is the slippery slope that leads to dog-eared pages and broken spines.
If you must, post-it notes should be sufficient, or, better, an electronic common place book where you can keep all your notes and thoughts in a searchable format.
You don’t want to read someone else’s notes because you want to approach a book fresh. I would go further and say that when rereading a book, I don’t want my prior thoughts to get in the way.
On a side note, if you want to distinguish the thought of your library, you don’t need to be Carnegie to design and print your own bookplate.
https://dlc.library.columbia.edu/carnegie/centennial/cul:xpnvx0k7w0
I can’t write in my books, but I can annotate my PDF versions.
I watch a lot of Virtual author podcasts. I have started writing notes on their comments inside their books. I feel good about it because now the notes I make won’t get lost. I never used to write in a book unless i found a very special quote of great meaning to me. Now I can take author comments along with me as I read the book.
My thing is that I have absolutely no interest in writing in my books myself, I don’t understand why I’d highlight or underline or make notes. BUT I would absolutely LOVE to read a book with someone else’s notes in them. I wish there was a second hand bookstore where I could buy books with other people’s scribbles and highlights, to see what parts moved them and what they thought. It sounds like reading a book with someone else, a buddy read with a stranger I’ll never meet and yet get to know thorugh this process.
I’ve been tempted to leave marginal warnings with citations about bits in otherwise good books that are just plain inaccurate, but… haven’t, yet, because: writing in books. (and yet I love it when I run across other peoples’ intelligent/fun marginalia)(not so about underlining/highlighting; I don’t especially care which bits someone felt something about, I want to know *what* they felt about them)
I’m now on a streak of three nonfiction books in a row which *could* have been so much better – so *good* and recommend-to-many-people instead of a mixed bag or a *very* mixed bag – that the distance between possibility and actuality has significantly frustrated me [given the facts that are readily accessible via the internet and the author’s obvious capability in coherent and easy-to-read prose – although apparently all three lacked capability in maintaining a high standard of ‘oh, I should look that up rather than depending on my vague memories of it…’]. Only one of them made me want to repeatedly smack the author with a rolled-up newspaper, though, so there’s that? But maybe I should start writing. In pencil…
Never in a fiction book – it’s the author’s work, not mine, so annotating would be disrespectful. I read with intent – my wife would ask me do you remember a story about xxx, and usually, I could quote the author, title, the approximate date of publication, and go and find the book and find the bit she was talking about fairly quickly (and we have about 3000 F&SF books alone.)
Technical books I will sometimes annotate, especially in instruction manuals. I use Finale for music and that’s annotated with instructions from the web where the manual is unclear.
I paid $5 for a used book that was part of a series. I waited until I had all of the series before reading it and was really annoyed that every page had a number of sentences underlined.
It’s okay to write in your books, just don’t sell them as readable to someone else.
I wish I did. I hate doing it, because I hate littering the work of art with my clutter of ideas that I will trip over the next time I read it. I wish I enjoyed eBooks more, as the possibility of hiding or even having separate layers of annotations (does any e-reader format do that?) is very appealing. But I love the idea of tracking my reading of a book.
As a teacher, my method is to have a notebook that I put annotations in. I also have a teacher’s copy of my class novels that have my color coded post-it flags and highlights. That’s a privilege of being a teacher, though. One of the few.
I use my copy of Dubliners as a prop to demonstrate to my students how thoroughly you can take notes on a reading. I wrote a paper on misprision in the book, and I traced every instance that I could find (and there are a lot!) i marked each one with color coded post-its, and scrawled a brief explanation of the significance of the quote on the note. I cherish this object because it’s such a good artefact of a deep dive into a book.
It’s so useful to have a record of your readings, but when you annotate, in a very real way you are creating a new text. Unless you want to have doubles of every book you own that you might reread (my house would explode!), I suppose a reading journal is the way to go.