From the shelf
In college, I was always one for used books. What do I care if the cover is a little bent? And the perfect, crisp binding of a new book is bound to crack, sooner rather than later, so let someone else bear the guilt. Mine came like that.
The best part, though, about a used book is in the underlining, highlighting and marginal notes of its past owner, this person who is a stranger but whose habits of mind, at least, habits of study, are revealed. Does the person highlight entire paragraphs or just confidently underline a phrase or name here and there? What is written in the margins? Some are messages of affirmation like, “Yes” or “Absolutely,” or, I really once saw this, “This is the point!” with an arrow pointing to the last sentence of a paragraph. Other times, there is self-doubt, confusion, and dissent: “Lame,” or “Huh?” or simply a question mark. Also, there is a kind of assurance in seeing that someone else underlined a particular passage for its beauty, or its truth, or its all-important relationship to central themes. It must be beautiful, or true, or important, because someone else thought so, too. Even in something as solitary as reading, there is still safety in numbers.
Today on my subway commute, I began Jane Austen’s Emma. Just looking at the book itself makes me smile a little. The front cover, which is a shade of yellow that nothing has been for at least 30 years, proudly proclaims that the book costs $2.25. That’s about the price of a slice of pizza on a New York street in 2008. Inside, is a simple stamp, “UNH,” and my father’s name in his familiar scrawl.
I have read many such books, looted from my parents’ bookshelves. The history books and contemporary fiction, I confess, I have not read many of. I have also skipped most of the poetry and things with colonated titles like X: A Theoretical Approach. But it is a great place to find a novel. Many of my motives are perhaps obvious: I’m looking for something to read, and these books are already in the house. Plus, $0 is even better than $2.25. But it is also for the marginalia.
My dad’s underlining (and he always underlined, never highlighting and only very rarely bracketing entire paragraphs) and notes tell me things about him that he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. In Emma, there is something underlined on nearly every page until about page 30. After page 36, there is no underlining at all. In its place is the occasional, sweeping note: “Class system at work openly,” or simply “patriarchy.”
It is a conversation with a past incarnation of someone I know in the present. I wonder, did Dad take an intial interest in the book that just tanked? Was he writing a paper on the exposition of the book (you know, phase one on that story triangle we are all forced to learn?) so notes after that point were unnecesary? Or maybe it was just a case of good intentions fallen short, a moment of scholarly exertion which passed.
Maybe I’ll know for sure when I get to page 36.
I can’t wait to find out what I said. As I told you on the phone, my handwriting in the book suggests that I read at least some of it. But I have no recollection of the book at all.