Confessions at the Alter of the Printed Word

I’ve done the unthinkable and, for the first time, committed the most sacrilegious act of my young bibliophilic life: I’ve intentionally defaced a book.

I’ve taken a box cutter to my copy of A Suitable Boy, separating the first 397 pages from the 1,077 that follow. I did this quickly, in a moment of weakness. I just couldn’t bear the weight. And you know what? It actually felt good, really good. If I could go back to when I read Infinite Jest, I’d cut those end notes into a separate section in a heartbeat.

Is there any penance for such a sin? How many Hail Gutenbergs will it take to cleanse my mortal soul of this unpardonable crime?

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