I recently read about old phone books in Somerset, England being converted to mini-lending libraries, which prompted me to consider the social aspects of a used book.

Last year, I happened upon a used copy of Nabokov’s Lolita at the wonderfully ancient Prospero’s in Kansas City (bricks and books, but so, so many of each). Having been familiar with the book’s pedophilic legacy, I approached, more curious than anything. I’m not easily offended, so I anticipated little reaction. But, aside from being minimally offensive and much funnier than I would have imagined (Nabokov can turn quite a phrase), the book surprised me on another level.

Used books, I discovered, are perhaps the origin of the virtual book networking circle. Consider this exchange between two Lolita readers:

LolitaHater_69: Gross. Simply Gross.

HumHumOK: What’s so gross about this?

LolitaHater_69: He’s a pervert. Obviously.

Within the first few pages I counted ten handwritten notations from a previous reader; let’s call him LolitaHater_69. These marginal comments spanned from simple opinions (the aforementioned “Gross. Simply Gross”) to lengthy diatribes (on one page LH_69 had so much to say that he curved his words in the margin to frame the entire page’s text).

At the time of these markings, LolitaHater_69 was likely notating for himself, using the white space to vent frustration, or as a reference perhaps, should he ever discuss the book with another impassioned reader. What he surely didn’t expect is that another reader, years later, would read his notes. And further, he surely didn’t expect that a reader would use those notes to judge him. That judgment: that LolitaHater_69 is a literate prude, though perhaps curious as I was, considering his notes appeared throughout the book, all the way to the very end.

The moment I developed an opinion of the page-tagger is the moment the book changed from a simple stack of paper to a network. Sure, I may never physically contact LolitaHater_69, but the virtual connection, the personality I’ve created for him, was quite able to keep the discussion going for the duration of my read (“I wonder what LolitaHater_69 would think of this line? He didn’t make a note about this seemingly offensive bit; does he not care about this?”).

A book becomes an artifact once distressed. Either physically—as in a torn cover, a creased spine—or psychically—as in an associated memory or story. Books are objects around which our experiences are governed. I propose reading with pen-in-hand. Continue conversations in used books. Start conversations in new books. Muss up the margins. What is a book, if not a device for conveying ideas? Consider your words a legacy, a way to speak to the future. Write you email address in the margins. Pass the book to a stranger. Go overboard. Not all of us can scribble to the depth of author Stephen Graham Jones but we can try.

I want to read a book with extra-wide margins, to encourage note-taking. Maybe the next book I write will be that book.

This is a guest post from Caleb J Ross, author of the chapbook Charactered Pieces: stories, as part of his ridiculously-named Blog Orgy Tour. Visit his website for a full list of blog stops. Charactered Pieces: stories is currently available from OW Press (or Amazon.com). Visit him at http://www.calebjross.com.