In Defence of Tatty Books

There are two types of readers in this world. There are the Careful Readers, the ones you see in coffee shops holding a book as if it were made of glass. You know one of these people – maybe you are one of these people. They have colour-coded bookshelves full of stunning hardbacks. They read with clean fingers. They never crack the spine.

And then there’s the other kind of reader. You can tell when they’ve read a book, because it kind of looks like it’s melted. They shove paperbacks into their coat pockets, still open to Chapter 5. They read in the bath, turning the pages with wet fingers. They fold down corners. They underline bits. Their favourite bookmark is a receipt for a tube of Pringles and an enormous bottle of Coke. Ladies and gentlemen: the infamous Careless Reader.

Crowdfunding publishers Unbound recently described my copy of Out of Love as “well-read”.

This divide of Careful vs Careless has been well-documented throughout history, and subject to much scientific scrutiny. It’s unknown if there’s ever been a successful marriage between a Careful and a Careless. But there’s no reason we can’t all be friends. We just can’t share books. I recently asked to borrow a Careful friend’s copy of Station Eleven, but she’d seen how one of my hardbacks is now coverless, and advised that I get my own copy.

It’s a well-documented fact that reading a book like this is sure to disgust a Careful Reader.

Careful Readers often argue that books deserve protection. They’re beautiful, they’re works of art, they’re whole worlds contained between two meticulously-designed covers. I heartily agree. But some would say there’s no higher compliment to a work of fiction than a tatty, battered copy.

This copy of Lord of the Flies shows clear signs of water damage and is highly likely to have been dropped in the bath.

A popular word to describe a great read is “unputdownable”. The story is simply so compelling that the pages keep turning. We all remember our first unputdownable – mine was The Hunger Games, which I read while staying with a friend. She picked it up when I finally fell asleep and we spent the next day on her sofa reading the same copy at the same time, a hundred pages apart.

But is something truly unputdownable if you can bear to part with it on the bus, or while you’re eating dinner? If you can bear to leave it at home while you take the dog for a walk? Tatty books are trophies, marks of adoration left by Careless Readers. Tatty books have been read on the rainy walk to school. Tatty books have been used as pillows after reading till your eyes slide closed. Tatty books remind us of libraries, little buildings full of magic. And the more a book is read, the more it gets creased, bent, ripped, torn, stained, folded, dropped, drawn on, drooled on, eaten over, passed around, talked about, shared with, and adored.

While Careful Readers would say this copy of Little Women has seen better days, Careless Readers would see its creases and tears as signs of love.

Books are meant to be read. They’re meant to be used. They’re meant to be cried onto, gasped at, and gripped with white-knuckled fingers. Above all, books are meant to be treasured. So next time you see pages sellotaped back in, you know that book has been truly loved.