ON THE CARE OF BOOKS.

Press, Volume LXI, Issue 18365, 24 April 1925, Page 17

ON THE CARE OF BOOKS.

A CONFESSION AND SOME

WARNINGS

(SPECIALLY WRITTEN- TCP. "T" E PfiESS.')

(By Cyrano.)

Just as there ;ire proper ways ol using a dog. or a cat. or a canary, or a baby, so there are right and wrong methods of handling books. Some rears ago » New Zealand book collector who lias enriched one of our best miblic libraries told me of an experience he had with a visitor. tone (I think it was a, woman) took up a richlv-bound volume and opened it out with'such eareles; force as to crack tlio back. I remembered the incident when the other day 1 came across, in an article on book lovers in tlie U, V, S " tian Science Monitor," this, parallel display of ignorance and niciiterence. The writer was in a bookshop when a rich customer was looking at a priceless volume hound in green leather. l"c customer forced it open in order to look at a plate, and the back of the book cracked with a loud snap, i'nd the plate fell to the floor. The dealer stood pale and speechless, "but tne •customer, apparently unaware that ne had done anything unpardenab e, merely handed the book back with the remark that it did not interest him. The number of persons who navo opportunities of doing such injury is relatively small. There is. however, need for a little instruction in the care of books, valuable and ordinary. I have a memory which I think willnever leave me, of an artist friend who had illustrated many books and known some famous writers, showing me his small but select library. To watch him take a hook from the shelf, open it, and turn the leaves over was an education. He drew cut the volume* reverently, and made his way through it with loving caresses. I thought of my huddled table, and the way in which, in my haste, I sometimes threw books about and tore through fheir contents. Again I find the "Monitor" writer helpful. He compares the truo book lover with the perfunctory reader. Tho latter's helplessness is evident in everything ho does. "He does not know how or where to look; he skips prefaces and indexes as dry; he pushes tho pages over from side or up from the bottom, and, when they do not turn easily, he is horribly likely to moisten his thumb. He respects no backs, and has a deplorable habit of forcing a ,volivmo to open flat, even though by doing so he tean a plato from the page it is glued to.;' Of course, he doet. other thing* which this writer does not mention. He cuts pages with * unsuitable instruments; he turns down corners to mark places; he lays open books face downwards. ] 'One of my books bears a diagonal mark across its blue and gold leather -cover. It is a Ruskih, bought in the days before there were reprints of tho master, who was quite satisfied that his wisdom should be sold to the public at half a guinea a volume. One evening a boy in the house was in a hurry to strike a match, and my Jluskin, lying on the table, was the nearest striker. The offender, I am glad to say, has since developed into a booklover.

The little passage at the head of this article is taken from a leaflet issued hy a,man who is at once a hook-lover and a' book-seller—Mr F. W. Reed ? of Whangarei, whose Dumas collection I described recently. He begins with a warning about the danger of opening books violently, and then gives detailed instruction on the right way of handling a new book. Place the back on the table, lay the back cover down gently, and then divide the leaves about ten at a time until the book lies wide open at the middle. This is the" right way to rear a, book; whereas, if you open it violently, you may cripple it for life. There is also, says Mr Reed, a right and a wrong way of taking a book from a shelf. Don't pull it by the top edge. Slightly push in the book on either side, and grasp it about the middle of the back. Books should never be packed tightly on a shelf. Thev should support each other sufficiently to prevent leaves and,corners from sagging, bub no more. In turning over, never rub two pages together, or moisten your thumb. "If the book had a voice it would squeal at. such treatment, and it soon shows signs of displeasure by creases and stains." Use a blunt knife or a proper paper knife to cut a book, and a thin book mark to mark your place. "Never lay a book on its face; how would you like to be stood on your head and forgotten?" How many of us who love literature could say we have observed all these rules at all times? Not I, for one. .1 think I have at one time and another broken all of them. I have forced books open, left them lying on their face, turned down comers of pages, shoved them into spaces too small for them, and used a finger to cut leaves. K am contrite, however; the "Monitor" article and Mr Reed's leaflet have filled me with desire to be a good boy. I can plead in extenuation, however, that most, if not nearly all, of my sins have been committed' with cheap books. If you are reading a cheap reprint in a tram, badly printed on bad paper, and you lack knife or pasteboard, is it a heinous sin to use your finger to do work that the publisher should have done for you? (Incidentally it is comforting to think that if you are in a railway carriage with an uncut book, and no cutter, you can, at the last extremity, use. your collar.) The very cheapness of books, however, is an encouragement to carelessness. They furnish an interesting illustration of the truth that every benefit has its drawbacks. Cheap books are/a great boon. The rising generation does not know what it was to live twenty or thirty years ago, when there were few reprints. Cheapness, however, means that we have' more books and that we are inclined to value less what we have. When we had a few books, and they were expensive, we valued them highly. We kept them on a shelf, and handled them carefully. Now that we have more books, and many of' them' are cheap, we leave some of them lyingabout; we read them at meals, and thereby expose them to the risk of grease stains; we stand cups of tea on them; we drop tallow on them as we read them in bed; and we cram them into pockets for reading in trams and trains. The reprint develops intimacy between the reader and the book. For a book of verse that has gone with you on half a dozen holidays you have a friendship that you probably do not feel for any of your more expensive books. The reprint, however, does not develop reverence. That should be inculcated through the well-bound, wellprinted book. It is therefore a mistake to give girls and bovs cheap books. Better that they should have a few books in whose appearance they will take pride than many volumes with no distinction in format. Having learned to take care of these few books, they will be the more likely, when they grow up, to treat all books properly.