Markers of Life

This post is personal. It is about a little quirk that makes my life different than yours. It falls among the details that your mother or your wife knows about you, like how you drink your coffee, with sugar or black, or which side of the bed you prefer better.

Those who are close to me, know that books play an important part in my life. I believe that if you are a genuine book lover, then the word ‘book’ in your subconscious should point to the printed version, never the e-book. A book to you should be only the one you can put under your pillow at night, hoping to inspire your dreams (without the risk of frying your brain.) Do that and you can claim to be among the ranks of the likes of Alexander the Great who used to do that with the Iliad.

If you accept the above premise then you will certainly find yourself very sympathetic to the following piece of paraphernalia: the book-marker. The goal of this post is to convince you that this secondary character in the play of your intellectual life can be a protagonist as well if looked at from the correct angle.

I think I like the analogy I gave previously, with markers being characters in an imaginary play so I will try to push it a bit further. Modern, experimental, theater tries to cross the line between the formal roles of the actor and the audience. The audience is invited to act and vice-versa. In that sense, in my endless need for markers for each book I read, I try to use little pieces of paper, usually tickets from movies I saw, or receipts from coffee places I frequent, as markers. Each book now gets its own dedicated marker, a special token for its memories. The nice thing is that like in the theater, the flow of information goes now both ways: the marker points to the memories from the book, and the book points back to the memories from that reading period of your life. Amazing, right?

I collect markers. Why? Because I find collecting stamps too boring (with all due respect to Lord Rutherford and his views on science.) Seriously, if you are like me the question should be reversed. Why would anyone not want to collect book-markers? Not only, they can be pieces of art in themselves. They are literally pointers to some of the best memories one has.

I hope that by now I have convinced you to appreciate the value of a book-marker that might fall into your hands but if everything else fails I think the pointer analogy is the most useful. Sir Isaac Newton thought of himself as a boy on the seashore gazing at the vast undiscovered ocean in front of him and rejoicing with his occasional discoveries. My discoveries compared to Newton’s are nothing more than sand on the surface of his shells, still, I regard myself too as another boy observing the same ocean and occasionally raising his hand to point to an interesting wave.

Most of these waves I caught in the pages of books and such amazing opportunities should be commemorated. A marker is the most appropriate way. So, if you ever find yourselves looking for a gift for me, a marker is one of your best options. After all, it is also one of the cheapest too :)