I go back and forth about how I feel about a dirty book. There is something special to the perfection of a new book sitting in a pristine store, the smell of paper wafting throughout the air. When I run my hand across the paper, I feel its cleanliness, the book lingering with an aura of innocence. All of this is different when I have started reading a book; it no longer holds a certain divinity only a new book can hold. I have trouble keeping a book in good condition. As I read, the spine crinkles into a web-like pattern, the cover curls inward at the edges. Of course, I'm cursed with getting books wet, typically dousing it in some unforgiving substance that discolors the paper. The mustiness of the now fluffed, wavy paper emits a powerful stench. What was once a perfectly bound and printed factory creation is now tattered. My frustration is undeniable. The paperback feels broken, almost destroyed from the abuse of my unforgiving hands trying to pry out the secretive words on each page. Of course, I guess everyone feels this way about ruined things. We are attached to what we have, everything we own is held in high value, especially if it is related to high expense. Although I know this to be true, I have come to find my own disappointment from ruining books to be more and more comical as I mature. Why should I expect to keep a book perfect if I equally expect to read it, and get something out of it? Even though I've slightly damaged a lot of my books over the years, I have also made them mine in the process. The crinkles in the spine have become a sign of progress; the curls on the edge come from intensified grips while reading some of the best parts; the smell and discoloration a sign of age, a representation of my maturation, fermenting on the plot and its deeper meaning. I can't say I appreciate only a perfectly new book without saying that I more so appreciate the mark that I leave on what I've read. I can only value a perfect book because it represents a beginning, a moment in time before I have learned something new, and changed both myself and my book for the better. I guess that is why a novel is meant to be something appreciated in paper form. Digital text files remain perfect, but they leave no character, no personality. There is beauty to something I can hold in my hand and physically manipulate solely for the purpose of reading. Ones and zeros don't crinkle at the hands of time; no one can physically hold a collection of electronic impulses and use it as a means of expression. Holding even a yellow, musty, creased, liquid spattered book is a representation. It is a page by page representation of private understanding. It is a representation of thought and personality. It is a representation of me, and as long as it is, I'll take the dirty book any day.