It happens at the beginning of every semester. Students make the journey to a small, little-used corner of campus to buy their textbooks. They walk in full of vigor, ready to begin the new semester with high hopes and new (or used) textbooks. They walk out feeling like they’ve gotten the fleecing of a lifetime from the very place that’s supposed to help them earn money later in life.

We all rant and rave about our textbooks, even more so at the end of the semester, when the nice gal or guy at the return desk hands us a small enough fraction on our books that the economics professor who wrote it is quietly cackling from within. And it’s not fair, not at all, that anyone should pay so much money for what we all know will be a three-month rental. But it’s a fact of life, and railing against the system for something that hasn’t changed in years, and won’t change anytime soon, well, it’s one of the few causes on campus that just ain’t worth it. But there is an alternative, an unpopular, seldom heard option.

Blame your professor.

Not in every class mind you. There are plenty of courses here at the university where students either don’t buy books at all, or get more than their money’s worth out of what they do have to buy. I personally keep many of the politics and literature books that I buy because they interest me.

But having walked out of an astronomy exam recently, and realizing that the two-hour study bender I enjoyed at 6 a.m. the morning of the exam, where I rifled through the old, thick textbook that cost me enough money to consider it an investment was a complete mistake, it’s hard to ignore the fact that there’s a target for this racket we don’t often pay attention to.

Certainly, professors should ask that students buy some books that will be used in class. Drama professors teaching a course in Shakespeare shouldn’t feel that asking their students to purchase a copy of “Hamlet” is an outright dictatorial insult. What I propose is merely that professors take a little more care in selecting which books students will have to read. We all know that the CD-ROMs that come with the textbooks are useful roughly 0.5 percent of the time, so maybe professors can throw a simple note in the syllabus: “Hey, buying a brand new copy of the book complete with the CD-ROM will let you play fun biology games and see pretty pictures, but it certainly won’t affect whether or not you can explain a myocardial infarction.”

Or simply categorize the books. Sure, there’s going to be a main textbook every student needs to read in order to get a complete understanding of the concepts. But is that colorful biography of Louis Pasteur really going to help out the ol’ GPA? If not, instructors would do their young followers well just to provide an indication of how vital the book will be. Most of the folks here at the ol’ State U. are smart enough to realize that passing a class will, in fact, require some reading. Those who don’t get it, well, they’re not long for this place anyway. But rather than send all 300 doe-eyed freshmen scampering to the dire straits of the week after the textbook bonanza, why not plan out your course so that it’s real clear a. how much students will need each overpriced textbook, and b. exactly when they’ll need it. Sure, including a class schedule helps, but some of the students who walk through the hallowed halls of this fine institution don’t have time to breathe in that first week of class, let alone notice that the $65 3-D pop-up human anatomy diagram book won’t be necessary until the second month of class.

And of course, professors, include your own work in the syllabus. You busted your hump to write it, and if it pertains to the class, have your students go out and buy it. You deserve the extra money – without floating into an entirely different kind of opinion column, you certainly don’t make enough for what you do – but you’re not getting royalties from the century-old physics book that’s still debating that whole “round world” theory. Don’t require it if it’s only going to lighten students’ wallets and wear down on their bookbags’ shoulder straps.

This isn’t a protest against reading. We all need to do more of it here, and coming from someone who also busts his hump to produce some kind of contribution to the daily reading milieu – feel free to flip to the back page after you’re done here – it’s not lost on me that our society is growing illiterate. But plenty of professors are discovering the joys of online reading material, and maybe that’s the perfect place to make available the 15-page chapter on earthworms and why they’ll rise up and rule the world.

I’m not asking professors to stop requiring reading material, and I’m not going to even try to recommend reducing prices to the wonderful folks over at Follett. I’d just like to request, on behalf of all the other people I see walking out of the Textbook Annex every September and February looking like someone just kicked their dog, that the required reading list on syllabi focus not so much on getting every book available, but getting the right one, the one that will help that poor student tomorrow morning in the middle of another all-nighter.

Andrew Merritt is a Collegian columnist.