Last week I read a fantastic article by Harry Mount in The Telegraph entitled "Our reverence for books is ludicrous", in which he wrote
... people are then amazed when they see me dog-earing a book, writing in it or, with a really big one, tearing it up into chunks to read on the beach. They're bored to death by their own reading, but they still think all books should be treated as precious relics.
Funnily enough, I've also recently read Anne Fadiman's glorious Ex Libris (review coming next Monday), in which she divides readers into "courtly lovers" and "carnal lovers". Basically, if you're a courtly lover you will treat a book as a precious object, holding the book itself sacrosanct.
But if you're a carnal lover, it's the words inside that matter, "the paper, cloth, cardboard, glue, thread, and ink that contained them were a mere vessel, and it was no sacrilege to treat them as wantonly as desire and pragmatism dictated."
I am guilty of dog-earing, writing in and, yes, on occasion tearing up books (but only with good reason).
I haven't got a problem with it. Have you?
