Last week, I returned a non-fiction book to the library that I hadn't finished reading. Earlier this year, I started a novel but put it down, for good, after a couple of chapters. I used to feel bad about doing that. I used to feel as though I had to read a book all the way through to the end, no matter what. Two people convinced me otherwise (though it took a while for their advice to sink in).

The first was my grade 10 geography teacher, Mr. Atkinson (I honestly don't remember his first name, if I ever knew it). He stood at the front of the classroom one day and assured us, vehemently, that it was okay if we didn't read every book from cover to cover. We could read one chapter, or two; we could read the parts we were interested in and leave the rest. I don't remember what prompted his speech, nor do I remember his exact words, but I do remember the passion and certainty with which he spoke. I also remember feeling both relieved and liberated. Not feeling like I had to read everything I picked up from cover to cover made me more likely to pick up and sample different things.

The second was physicist, writer, and educator Ursula Franklin. I once read an interview with Franklin in which she shared her advice on how to "get through" all the reading there was to do in university, and I think she was speaking particularly about the reading required at the graduate level. Her advice, roughly, was this: read some of each book—the back cover, the introduction, the author's biography, the foreword or preface—then read everything that's been written about the book and the author.

I remember being shocked by Franklin's advice. It seemed like cheating somehow. Can you really understand and talk about a book without having read it all yourself? What if everyone who writes about the book misses the point in the original, or misquotes it? What if there is a less popular idea somewhere in the book that no one writes about or comments on, and that you would never know about if you didn't read the book yourself? Of course, in the case of classics, both of the latter are unlikely, and the option of reading the original is always available.

Over time, I've come to appreciate the value of Franklin's advice. Sometimes you really don't need to read the whole book to understand and apply the main ideas. Sometimes what has been said about or done with the ideas introduced in a book is more important than the book itself.

Back to the book I returned to the library. The topic was interesting, but I didn't really want or need to read a whole book about it. And the writing was a little… well, I'm not sure how to describe it. I want to say dull, but that seems unfair and perhaps inaccurate. My enthusiasm for the book just waned. I kept choosing to read other things instead, and after two renewals, my time with the book was up. I certainly learned something from the chapters I did read, and I can always pick the book up again in future if I want to learn more or have more time.

Upcoming books sales
I spent an hour or so browsing the tables and boxes at the University College book sale this past weekend (it's on until Tuesday). This is one of four book sales that take place at the University of Toronto each fall. There are two still to come:
Trinity College book sale  October 20–24, 2011
St. Michael's College book sale  October 25–29, 2011

Never been to a University of Toronto book sale? Go! It's worth it. There are books on every subject at great prices.

Here are three of the titles I bought:
The Days of Christ's Coming, a beautiful advent calendar, ©1953, with paintings by Fritz Wegner and story told by Dorothy L. Sayers (!!)
Inside Language: A Canadian Language Reader, for all the samples of good writing in different genres (Prentice-Hall Canada, 2000)
Let's Eat!/Allons Manger!, a simple two-colour bilingual picture book for a friend's son (Kids Can Press, 1982)