Why you shouldn’t lend books to writers

Just a little disclaimer: this post is about why you shouldn’t lend books to writers. But you should definitely recommend books to them, and by all means give them books. Just not anything you expect to get back. Ever.

Anyone who has ever considered themselves a writer–to the extent where they would talk about it to other people–has been lent a book. Well, anyone who has ever had a conversation about reading has been lent a book. I’m willing to bet that almost everyone, at some point in their lives, has been lent a book. But what I’m getting at is that most people will delightedly accept said book, read it within a reasonable amount of time, and returned it to its owner, relatively unscathed. But not writers. We will destroy yours books, and then, maybe, years later, we’ll give them back.

I know, this seems counterintuitive because writers love books. But, this is precisely why we treat them the way we do. Still not making sense? Here are a few reasons why you shouldn’t lend your books to writers (or, at least, this writer):

 

1. We will never read them. Well, that’s not entirely true. We will read them. Eventually. On every writer’s desk is a pile of books waiting to be read. Books that we bought on a whim. Books that were bought for us. Often, books that we have to read for a class. And yes, books that were lent to us. There are very similar piles on our coffee tables, in our closets, and yes, even on our bookshelves. And then there are the books we want to read again. It’s not that we don’t want to read the book that you lent us, we really do. And we will. Some day. 

 

2. We will write in them. We can’t help it. We’ll forget that we are reading someone else’s book, and we will underline, and check-mark, and draw exclamation points. Sometimes we’ll pose questions, knowing they won’t necessarily be answered. When we’re feeling particularly writerly, or academic or just plain obnoxious, we’ll note subtle connections to classical literature, or the Bible, or a contemporary philosophical movement. ‘It’s called marginalia,’ we’ll exclaim, and we’ll fancy ourselves the next Blake. And then you probably won’t want to be our friend anymore.

 

3. We will destroy them. Not on purpose, of course. But we will. We love books, and we will smother them with our love. They will be shoved into purses and back pockets, thrown to the bottoms of backpacks, tucked inside jackets. They will go everywhere we go, and they will have full, rich lives. But they will die young. Or, at the very least, they will age prematurely.

Want some examples? Certainly! I have destroyed many a book. In junior high, I borrowed my father’s copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. I carried it around with me everywhere, and eventually its spine broke and its cover tore off. I had left it out on the counter one night and he asked me why I had borrowed the book from the library, when he had a copy for me…I did eventually replace it, years later, when I saw the exact same edition in a used book store. In high school, I read Catch-22 until it broke apart into three pieces. I joked about how I could carry it around in volumes. My best friend, whose books were always in pristine condition, looked at me in horror. And for some reason, this same friend lent me her copy of Brave New World and I read it holding the book half open, in fear. That’s no way to live. In college I borrowed a wonderful guilty pleasure from my friend’s mom. I took care of it as best I could, not creasing the pages or breaking the spine, only to pull it out of my bag one day to find an over-ripe pair stuck to the corner. I replaced that one, too. 

 

Hmm, maybe you just shouldn’t lend books to me. Unless, I guess, you want a brand new copy a year or so later.

Seriously