Once when I was in high school, a friend of a friend gave me a dog-eared, softcover copy of Jack Kerouac's On the Road. She had gotten it from a friend, and after reading it wanted to pass it along from one reader to the next. On the first page she'd written "Kerouac knows his stuff! Let's all go one day!! Enjoy it, then pass it on!! [and then she'd signed her name]" The last two exclamation points were turned into the eyes of a smiley face with its tongue out. I'm only a little sorry to say that I never did pass the book along. I read it and loved it with all the fibers of my being. And I kept it. From my parents' house to various rooms in college to life afterward, I have always made sure it stands on my bookshelf. This particular book notwithstanding, I love sharing books with friends, and I have embraced the joy of not caring much whether they make their way back to me afterward. As long as a book is in the hands of someone who loves it or at least is curiously reading it, I'm satisfied. (Honestly, though, there are a few like the aforementioned which I would care to get back and keep.) I believe someone once told me that books should never be lent, only given. Perhaps that's right. I read, too, that Studs Terkel (I think it was he) would not like for books he loaned out to be returned without the borrowers' marginalia inscribed within. He felt that properly reading a book was to have a conversation with the author, and enjoyed seeing his friends' conversations on the pages of his books. So if you haven't recently, consider giving a book you love to someone you love, and don't worry too much about getting it back. There are many more on their way to you.
