A friend of mine who blogs (intermittently) at Laughter of Lowly Things offered a rebuttal to the grumpy book in my bedroom. An excerpt:
Dear Books Who Think Yourselves Ill-used Because People Write In Your Margins and Cover Pages,
Buck up. Think of all the graffiti that gets slapped on beautiful public buildings and natural wonders every day—now there’s a real offense.
Think about it: what is the true test of a book’s worth? Surely it is not clean, unmarked pages that make it sell for a little more on Amazon.com or Ebay. Isn’t it rather that the book should have become woven into the soul of a living human being?
Read the rest here.