Unit 6

    Text

    "Don't ever mark in a book！" Thousands of teachers， librarians and parents have so advised. But Mortimer Adler disagrees. He thinks so long as you own the book and needn't preserve its physical appearance， marking it properly will grant you the ownership of the book in the true sense of the word and make it a part of yourself.

    HOW TO MARK A BOOK

    Mortimer J. Adler

    You know you have to read "between the lines" to get the most out of anything. I want to persuade you to do something equally important in the course of your reading. I want to persuade you to "write between the lines." Unless you do， you are not likely to do the most efficient kind of reading.

    You shouldn't mark up a book which isn't yours. Librarians （or your friends） who lend you books expect you to keep them clean， and you should. If you decide that I am right about the usefulness of marking books， you will have to buy them.

    There are two ways in which one can own a book. The first is the property right you establish by paying for it， just as you pay for clothes and furniture. But this act of purchase is only the prelude to possession. Full ownership comes only when you have made it a part of yourself， and the best way to make yourself a part of it is by writing in it. An illustration may make the point clear. You buy a beefsteak and transfer it from the butcher's icebox to your own. But you do not own the beefsteak in the most important sense until you consume it and get it into your bloodstream. I am arguing that books， too， must be absorbed in your bloodstream to do you any good.

    There are three kinds of book owners. The first has all the standard sets and best-sellers —— unread， untouched. （This individual owns wood-pulp and ink， not books.） The second has a great many books —— a few of them read through， most of them dipped into， but all of them as clean and shiny as the day they were bought. （This person would probably like to make books his own， but is restrained by a false respect for their physical appearance.） The third has a few books or many —— every one of them dog-eared and dilapidated， shaken and loosened by continual use， marked and scribbled in from front to back. （This man owns books.）

    Is it false respect， you may ask， to preserve intact a beautifully printed book， an elegantly bound edition？ Of course not. I'd no more scribble all over a first edition of "Paradise Lost" than I'd give my baby a set of crayons and an original Rembrandt！ I wouldn't mark up a painting or a statue. Its soul， so to speak， is inseparable from its body. And the beauty of a rare edition or of a richly manufactured volume is like that of painting or a statue. If your respect for magnificent binding or printing gets in the way， buy yourself a cheap edition and pay your respects to the author.

    Why is marking up a book indispensable to reading？ First， it keeps you awake. （And I don't mean merely conscious； I mean wide awake.） In the second place， reading， if it is active， is thinking， and thinking tends to express itself in words， spoken or written. The marked book is usually the thought-through book. Finally， writing helps you remember the thoughts you had， or the thoughts the author expressed. Let me develop these three points.

    If reading is to accomplish anything more than passing time， it must be active. you can't let your eyes glide across the lines of a book and come up with an understanding of what you have read. Now an ordinary piece of light fiction， like， say， "Gone with the Wind，" doesn't require the most active kind of reading. The books you read for pleasure can be read in a state of relaxation， and nothing is lost. But a great book， rich in ideas and beauty， a book that raises and tries to answer great fundamental questions， demands the most active reading of which you are capable. You don't absorb the ideas of John Dewey the way you absorb the crooning of Mr. Vallee. You have to reach for them. That you cannot do while you're asleep.