Allow me to indulge in what might be a somewhat controversial book take for a moment. We, the book community writ large, have got to stop being so precious (see secondary definition here) and pearl-clutchy about the physical object of the book.

But let me back up for a second.

During my undergraduate Literature degree, I took a class from one English professor who, on the first day of the semester, picked up his copy of the Norton Anthology of British Literature and chucked it across the room. The room gasped and watched in stunned silence as the enormous book flew across the room and landed in a crumpled heap, pages folded and bent.

This professor strode across the room, picked up his anthology, smoothed a few pages down, closed it, and put it back on his desk.

And then he announced to the room that the book is not a sacred object.

The stories, imagination, knowledge, or information contained within the book are certainly sacred, but not the physical object itself. It is merely paper and ink — and usually fairly cheap paper and ink at that. And whatever we need to do to that physical object in order to best access, understand, and appreciate the knowledge within — be it writing in the margins, underlining, folding pages, or even ripping the book in half to make it easier to carry — are all fair game.

That lesson was absolutely invaluable to me. I carried it with me into graduate school, and eventually imparted it to my own students when I taught.

There are, obviously, exceptions. Certainly no one is advocating for beating up first editions, or antiques, or beautifully-printed hardcovers. But your average, standard publication, trade paperback? It is not sacred. Please stop acting like it’s the Shroud of Turin.

This brings me back to where I started.

There have always been people who judge those who dare to dog-ear their book pages, or write in their books, and so forth. And there always will be. It’s a fact of life, and I accept that. And certainly no one is saying you have to do these things to your books if you don’t want to. But in recent years there has been a huge uptick in those who are very vocal in online spaces (as so often happens with the internet), acting as if those who adapt a printed book to their needs is tantamount to the devil. People who rant and rave against someone dog-earring a page, or behaving as if a disabled person who tears a very large book in half to make it easier to hold has just ripped an infant in two and should be executed. It’s absurd.

Not coincidentally this kind of judgy behavior has gotten worse with the rise of book subscription boxes and the craze in recent (last 6-8 years) of more and more “special edition” and “collectible” books. Now. Let me be clear. There is nothing wrong with special editions and collectible books. I have a good handful of beautiful, illustrated, signed, extra-expensive special editions that I adore. They have their own shelf in my office. I keep them dusted, out of harsh sunlight that might bleach the spines, and away from harm. I paid a lot of money for them, and they are absolutely works of art and should be treated that way.

That said, there is a growing trend/attitude in a large number of buyers who will only buy a book if it’s a special edition — with sprayed edges! Exclusive dust jackets! Illustrated end papers! Signed and numbered! And certainly only in hardcover! The book subscription boxes are constantly tripping over each other in the scramble to find more and newer and better ways to outdo the competition with their exclusive perks. More and more the focus drifts away from whether a book is actually good and readable and toward its collectibility and exclusivity.

While this has absolutely been a major boost for some authors, it truly only helps the big names. The buzzy TikTok titles. The authors known for catching the attention of subscription boxes and having a million slightly different “exclusive editions” in various places. I love that some authors are seeing major boosts in sales from these things. But it is also harming the vast majority of midlist authors who never get hardcover releases — only trade paperback, and sometimes only ebook releases. The authors who have been publishing consistently for years, sometimes decades, without ever getting quite mainstream enough for the big flashy TikTok campaign or the special edition from Illumicrate or some other big subscription box. Or the debut authors who weren’t lucky enough to warrant the big initial marketing push from their publisher, or catching the eye of that one BookTok reviewer who could make them the next sensation.

I firmly believe that these two attitudes (the pearl-clutchy sacredness of the physical book, and this obsession with exclusivity) go hand-in-hand. If the book is sacred, only the prettiest, flashiest, most valuable packages are worth buying/reading. And both readers and authors are harmed by this attitude.

I’m not saying we shouldn’t buy (or make) pretty special editions anymore. Or that we must buy every random paperback we see. Or that everyone is required to treat their books with more roughness. I’m just saying maybe we, as a community, need to unclench a little. Stop worrying quite so much about the resale value of a bloody book, and just try getting the fullest out of the content on offer.

(Also, apologies if I got a tiny bit rant-y here. But if I can’t rant a tiny bit on my own blog, where can I?)