A good meditation on literary impermanence from The Christian Century
Some books should never be written, and even those with literary or theological merit look self-indulgent and redundant when heaped in piles and splayed under a child’s heel. It doesn’t take long to inure oneself to a task like this. One can learn the tricks of evisceration in short order, and there’s a tangible satisfaction to mastering them: the angle at which to yank apart the pages of a book with a sewn binding, how many pages to hold between your thumb and forefinger before tugging, how to slide your thumb under a plastic jacket to pop off the tape and slough off its skin.
“Words made pulp: Why I destroy books” by Valerie Weaver-Zercher