Chamila Talagala in Facebook, early October 2025
Some time back, while at the Colombo Law Library, I found myself counting the pages of a book I had just bought. I was sitting at a table, carefully flipping through each page. A colleague noticed what I was doing and laughed, saying: “මොන පිස්සු වැඩක්ද මේ කරන්නේ? වැඩක්ම නැති වැඩක්!”
I smiled quietly. To truly understand someone, you have to step into their shoes. For me, there was always a reason behind that seemingly odd habit. Experience shapes us, and sometimes, what looks useless is actually born from necessity. After all, how many of us check that all pages are there when we buy a new book?
In 2004, I bought a set of books you see in this picture: “Gour’s Penal Law of India”. This monumental treatise by Sir Hari Singh Gour is highly respected, frequently cited in courts in Sri Lanka, and considered an authoritative guide on criminal law. I purchased these volumes from a bookstore in India.
Months later, maybe nearly a year, I wanted to delve into the section relating to the offence of rape for some research. This wasn’t mere academic curiosity – I needed to understand the legal framework around it, how the law had evolved, and how courts had interpreted every line. This kind of research demands accuracy, completeness, and depth.
But as I began reading, something felt off. Sentences ended abruptly, references were incomplete, and the flow of argument was broken. When I looked closer, I realized with shock that more than a hundred pages were missing. Worse, some pages were duplicated, bound twice, replacing the missing content with repeats.
I was stunned. Half amused, half frustrated, I thought immediately of the seller and the publisher. This book was supposed to be a reliable source – how could it be so flawed?
I reached out to both the seller and the publisher. To their credit, both were understanding and helpful. They offered to replace the book if I returned it, but as I was in Sri Lanka, sending it back to India was complicated. It would take time, involve courier charges, and formalities. More importantly, I had already marked, highlighted, and annotated that copy – it had become my book.
So I suggested a simpler solution: could they just send me the missing pages, so I could insert them and have the book rebound?
Both agreed promptly. The publisher sent me the original printed pages; the seller sent photocopies for backup. Eventually, I had the book restored – patched, perhaps, but complete.
Since then, I have never opened a new book the same way again. Every time I buy a book or receive one as a gift, the first thing I do is count the pages – quietly, carefully, like a ritual.
Over the years, I have found that missing pages are not as rare as one would hope. I have had to return several books because of it. For example, the Indian reprint of “De Smith’s Judicial Review” – a standard reference on Administrative Law – I returned three times to a seller in Sri Lanka. Each copy had missing pages. Luckily, the fourth copy, the last one they had, was finally complete.
Perhaps I have become a bit of a menace to local bookshops and sellers. But despite all this, I have never encountered missing pages in books published by internationally reputed Western publishers like Oxford, Cambridge, Taylor & Francis, Springer, Hart, or Penguin. Their books always arrive intact, pages whole, bindings secure. Their consistency isn’t just a mark of quality; it’s an unspoken promise to the reader: You can trust this book.
So when my colleague at the Colombo Law Library asked me why I was counting pages, laughing at what he called a useless task, I only smiled. To comprehend someone fully, you must view the world through their eyes. And once you have spent time chasing missing pages, writing emails, and returning defective books, you learn that some habits – no matter how strange they seem – are born out of necessity.
I count pages because I have learned that not all books are as whole as they appear. And sometimes, the first step in serious work is to make sure that every page is there. After all, what if you find out pages are missing just when you need that part most? Preparation is key. As Abraham Lincoln wisely said:
“Give me six hours to chop down a tree and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe.”
In research and law practice, just as in life, being prepared makes all the difference.
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https://researchers.cdu.edu.au/en/persons/chamila-talagala
A NOTE From Michael Roberts, 3 October 2025
I must be a lucky person. In some 68 years or so in academic engagement I have never encountered a book with missing pages; and in some 75 years of reading adventure tales and novels I cannot recall any such instance.
ZEIT IS GELD as some Germans would say …. That is “Time is Money” …… as a rapier thrust directed at Talagalla’s philosophy of practice. BUT, THEN, each …. to his own ways.
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