I spent some of my college years at the University of Connecticut, taking Lit classes with Dr. Regina Barreca. Gina was my favorite professor. In five years of college*, hers was the only early morning class that regularly had full attendance. She was engaging and dynamic, and really, really funny. We laughed just as much as we learned in her classes. I was fortunate enough to do an independent study with her, and I still find myself revisiting the things she taught me as I read and, especially, as I write. In short: I <3 her.
/gushing
So, anyway. One day, she was telling us about how different she and her husband were as readers. She said that they used to share books, but that her husband was HORRIFIED at her coarse! treatment! of the Sacred Objects, so they began their own separate libraries.
At first, I thought perhaps her husband was overreacting. I mean, yeah, I folded over page corners and wrote in my books. Like Gina, I ate and drank while reading, and sometimes you could tell. But, like Gina, I thought it was a testament to the quality of the story—if you couldn’t bear to part with the book for even a moment to take a sip of coffee, well that must be one damn good book.
Then she gave an example of her “practical” approach to reading and I understood.
One time, she was in the middle of reading a huge book when she had to take a trip. So, rather than lug the gigantic, weighty tome around in her carry on—and really, why should she when she only needed half of it?—she simply ripped the book in two and brought the second half with her.
Heh. See, that makes me grin. It’s sassy. I like it. I know it wasn’t a sign of disrespect to the book and that it won’t stop her from re-reading it in the future.
But I also know that some of you are probably shrieking at your monitors right now. ;)
*Shut up. I changed my major mid-stream.
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