The art of giving a book
Dear Reader,
Book giving is a fine enterprise. You have much more freedom than in recommending a read.
Much of what I wrote in “The art of suggesting a read” doubles as a good course of action in book giving. Yet unlike with suggesting a read, you can indeed give a book to help shape a person. You can give a book because you know the person would never try the book otherwise. You can give a book because the person would never treat themselves to so a fine copy. (Here I have in mind Library of Congress, Folio Society, Foxed Quarterly, and other such publishers of beautiful books.)
Of course, my appreciation of beautiful books does open me up to a certain line of critique found in Gabriel Zaid’s So Many Books:
Ernest Dichter, in his Handbook of Consumer Motivations, speaks of this guilty conscience as it affects mail-order book club members. There are those who sign up with the idea that they are gaining entrance to a cultural extravaganza. But as the books arrive and the time required to read them adds up, each new shipment becomes a less-than-festive reproach, an accusation of failure. Finally, the discouraged members withdraw, resentful that books are still being sent, even though they have paid for them.
This explains the invention of books that aren’t meant to be read. Books, in other words, that can be displayed without consequences or guilt: dictionaries, encyclopedias, atlases, art books, cookbooks, reference books, bibliographies, anthologies, complete works. Books that tasteful gift-givers prefer—because they’re expensive, which is a sign of esteem, and because they don’t threaten the recipient with the task of responding to the questions “Have you read it yet? What did you think of it?” In fact, the must uncommercial slogan in the world might be: “Give a book! It’s like giving an obligation.”
That last line is a consideration I explored in “the art of suggesting a read”.
But I must admit that while I’ll merrily give an expensive book—because beauty—I’ve never given a book with the intention that it shouldn’t be read. I don’t ask every person I’ve given a book to if they’ve read it yet. That would be absurd. Yet I certainly follow up on many of them.
To return to expense, though, I’ve had friends who were happier with the fifty-cent book I gave them than the fifty-dollar one. This is an incredibly important thing for any book-giver to realize: whatever the price of the book, it’s the match that matters.
And sometimes, you do need to give a book in order that the match might happen. (Admittedly, I’m perhaps known better for mailing people magazines that they should read. Not emailed magazine articles—though I do that as well—but whole magazines in the mail.) The reason that you might need to give the book, instead of merely recommending it, is that it’s almost impossible for other people to tell from someone else’s recommendation just how important a read would be in their lives. That is, while the book recommender might well know that this book is essential now in another’s life, that other person won’t typically recognize the same urgency to go buy it or reserve at the library. When you give someone such a book, you help them to bump up its urgency, even if they never quite reach the same level of urgency you felt in giving it.
If the book you give doesn’t haunt the recipient but rather invites them to read, then you’ve done your work.
Happy book giving,
Kreigh
P.S. Yes, this is a bit late in the month! Apologies for my delay. There’s something still missing from this piece, but after over a year of mulling and this past month’s more focused attentions, I haven’t guessed at what it is. If you think of it, send me an email.
P.P.S. Another great way of giving a book: ask the person specifically what they want. You can qualify with “if money were no object” or “if you were feeling whimsical” or “if you were looking for a new hobby” or “if you have a rabbit trail you’d like to go down.” All manner of questions can give you either specific books (like this ) or general categories (like this).