Library Books

     I remember clearly being taught in grade school (we didn’t call it “elementary school” then) how to open a new book.  The teacher demonstrated how to set the book on its spine and then open a few pages at a time, first from the back and then from the front.  With each new group we were to gently run our hands down the “gutter” and we were told that this process would preserve the life of the book.  It seems to me that we also were required to have clean hands in order to participate in this process.
     That was not the only lesson we were given regarding the care of books.  We were admonished to never ever turn down the corner of a page – I don’t remember the term “dog-ear” being used, though – and under no circumstances were we to make any notations or marks on the pages.  The pages were to remain pristine so that the book could be enjoyed by other readers for years to come.
     The only exception to any of the rules was the number written neatly in ink on the inside of the front cover.  This presumably had been done by the teacher and, in her roll book, she recorded our numbers next to our names so that the books could be checked at the end of the term and we could be held accountable for any transgressions.
     It was all a little frightening and very impressive – so much so that, even now, I am a bit traumatized when I am asked by someone to personalize or sign a book I have written.   I am a faithful bookmark user and notepad user.  No dog-ears or comments in the margins in my books!  So, it is always a great shock to me when I come across penciled-in annotations in library books!  Who would dare?!
     But there is someone ‘out there’ – maybe even several someones – who somehow feels compelled to correct misspelled words, rewrite awkward sentences, and even question language usage.  The latest example I’ve run across is in an Ocean Park Timberland Library book, The Hot Kid, by Elmore Leonard.  The sentence reads Norm had a pair of binoculars on the floor next to him. M The words “pair of” are crossed out and neatly pencilled just above are the words “why two?”
     Give me a break!  I can only hope that the Pencil Vandal is trying to be clever.  Who doesn’t know that it’s a pair of binoculars, a pair of glasses or a pair of trousers?  But, I have to admit, my curiosity was piqued so I did a little research.
     I found that, in the case of trousers (or pants after the word “pantaloons”), in the 16^th century each leg was an individual garment, put on separately and belted together at the waist.  So it made sense to say a “a pair” of britches.  Apparently the evolution of binoculars is similar, but it does seem that the “pair” and the “bi” are redundant.  Maybe I need to do a little more research?
     Well, it was all a very interesting diversion, but I am still annoyed at the defacement of the library book.  Perhaps the Pencil Vandal could consider expressing herself (the handwriting is pretty dainty and feminine looking) in another way.  Maybe a blog?