The other day I was trying to explain to my friend the difference between a loafer sock and an ankle sock. For some reason, she wasn’t getting it. We were waiting on line in a store and there wasn’t any paper handy. So I whipped out a pen and the book I had in my bag, opened to a blank page at the back, and drew a picture. The cashier gave me one of the most horrified looks I’d ever seen. It was the kind of look that I would have reserved for baby killers who sell drugs to kids, kick their dogs, and root for the Red Sox. And all because I’d drawn a little picture in my own book. I was tempted to rip the page out afterwards just to see how he would react but I don’t like to see grown men cry.

This reminded me of an essay I read once. It’s from a book by Anne Fadiman. In it the author splits the world into two categories: Courtly Book Lovers and Carnal Book Lovers.

The Courtly Book Lover:
Uses a bookmark; she never dog-ears a page. It’s what they were invented for.
Never, ever, ever breaks the spine. Ever.
Frowns upon writing in a book. Though, in cases of dire necessity, it may be done very lightly and in pencil.
Breaks out in hives if a page is ripped out of a book.

The Carnal Book Lover:
Always dog-ears. Bookmarks are for wimps.
May even *gasp* break the spine in multiple places and place an open book face down. Uses books as coasters, extra paper, or table-leg eveners.
Understands that sometimes books fall into bathtubs. (My sister still hasn’t forgiven me for that yet…)
Has probably learned not to borrow books.

I, obviously, am a carnal book lover. Books aren’t Lladro statues that should be admired and handled with white gloves. They’re made to be read and smelled and even dumped into bathtubs or swimming pools if the occasion calls for it! So, are you with me or should I have my book reading privileges revoked?