In Defense of Marginalia

I have a delightfully diverse collection of old books; I acquired many discarded editions from my college library (my oldest item, a collection of Hindu sacred texts, dates to 1891). Some are in excellent shape, others not so much. But I am privileged to have a fairly large collection of fairly rare volumes.

I keep many on my large bookshelf so that when whim strikes I can take one off and browse for a while. (When I'm busy, they serve to taunt me and my work-a-day life). Today I picked up "The Art of Enjoying Art" by A. Philip McMahon (New York: Whittlesey House, 1938), a thorough volume on art appreciation and theory. But what struck me was a charmingly antediluvian Ex Libris tag on the inside front cover. It reads:

WHEN YOU USE A BOOK

• Are you careful with it? 

•  Do you try to keep it clean? 

•  Do you refrain from writing or marking it? 

•  Do you resist the temptation to roll up the corners of the pages and tear out little nips? 

•  If so, good. 

•  If not, try to think of books as human beings with feelings just like yours. And resolve today to treat books as friends.

While tearing out little nips constitutes a crime against posterity, the insinuation that marking or writing in a book constitutes abuse and a devaluing of the book's "human" dignity is flatly false. Let us for a moment take to heart what the last point commands: "try to think of books as human beings with feelings just like yours...[and] treat books as friends."

How many of you have friends that you merely observe or visually read? Now I'm not talking about "Facebook friends". I"m talking about real, deep, close friends; even best friends. Would you just stand in front of them for hours, awkwardly staring in silence? Or would you enter into a varyingly diverse dialogue of jocularity and empathy? Writing and marking in books serves as a quasi-dialogic exercise between reader and codex. While the book qua codex is unable to speak, the book qua vehicle of human intellection enters into dialogue with the reader on a deeply personal level, if only the reader accepts the invitation to listen, for without listening no dialogue can exist. In the words of Joseph Ratzinger ("The Nature and Mission of Theology" [San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1995], pp. 32-33):

[D]ialogue does not take place simply because people are talking. Mere talk is the deterioration of dialogue that occurs when there has been a failure to reach it. Dialogue first comes into being where there is not only speech but also listening. Moreover, such listening must be the medium of an encounter; this encounter is the condition of an inner contact which leads to mutual comprehension. Reciprocal understanding, finally, deepens and transforms the being of the interlocutors.

The physical constitution of the codex receives the thoughts and ruminations of the attentive reader. Marginalia—book markings worthy of the name—form a dialogue with future generations as well, linking the living with the dead in a communion of thought. The reader thereby enters into a dialogue with the substance of the author's thought, a dialogue that transcends space and time, a metaphysical dialogue expressed through humble scribbles, a meeting of the physical and the metaphysical, of time and eternal truth.

Marginalia do not derogate from the inherent worth of the book anymore than tattoos derogate from the inherent dignity of the human person, body and soul. While they may detract from the value of the book [unless they are of some antiquity], if this is of concern to the private owner (in contrast to the library patron) then the owner is already treating his book not as a human being or friend with feelings, but as a slave, an intelligent subject acquired and sold for monetary gain.

I'm not seriously asserting that slavery exists in such framework, but if the goal is to treat books as human beings then they should not be expected to stay in mint condition until they can be sold. We should engage with them as objects of intelligence, and for many, marginalia serve as a means of dialogic encounter.