Why libraries have a hold on me: A love letter
Time was, children, if you wanted a library book, you had to go to the library. The actual physical library building. You located your book in the card catalog. Then you rowed through the stacks until you chased it down by its Dewey decimal number. And since you were already there, you might cruise through those stacks just to see whether something interesting popped up.
I was at the library the very day the card catalog was hauled away. I was barely 40 years old but had a full-blown case of premature curmudgeonry. This was a terrible betrayal. It was as though the ancient Greeks had ousted their oracle. But I鈥檓 over it. Now, the library is a place where people go to get warm. The rest of us are online. We can put a hold on a book, and they鈥檒l even mail it to us for free if we want. It鈥檚 like shopping, or getting food, or banking 鈥� there鈥檚 no need to pry yourself out of your comfy chair.聽
But I enjoy the starch of virtue I get from walking to the library to pick up my book. The space devoted to holds is almost as big as the rest of the stacks now. They don鈥檛 have as many books out on the main bookshelves anymore. It feels like an orphanage for books nobody wants to put a hold on.
Why We Wrote This
From card catalogs and the Dewey decimal system to e-books and 3-D printers, libraries have evolved over the years. What has endured: The timeless pleasure of getting lost amid the stacks and stumbling onto new treasures.
I鈥檓 certain the books I order gossip about me in the hold limbo. The nonfiction sneers at the genre lit, and the literary fiction sneers at everything. They鈥檝e got time; they can be there awhile. When I put a book on hold, the library usually informs me that I鈥檓 No. 257 in line for 22 copies. So, I already know other people want to read that book, too, and since everything is done on the honor system now and there are no overdue fines, I have to try really hard to get the little princesses read and returned.
That鈥檚 not my strong suit. For someone who takes to wordage like an otter takes to water, I鈥檓 a remarkably slow reader. I hardly ever sit in a chair and read. I read in bed. That鈥檒l get me five pages in before I fall asleep, and I won鈥檛 remember them the next night.
And for the past few years, I have 鈥� more than once 鈥� tried to return a book to a library that was no longer open. Thanks to the generosity of Portland, Oregon, taxpayers who can鈥檛 pass up a library or parks levy, our neighborhood libraries are getting a makeover. Some of them might even be retrofitted to withstand the big Cascadia subduction zone earthquake that the geologists have penciled in for us.
Five years ago, my local branch closed down, and the suggested replacement added a mile to my walk. Then that one closed, and the county arranged for a pop-up branch in a tiny room of a college campus, where the staff was lonely and eager to help out and recommend things. I loved that little gem, but last year it closed for good, and I was directed to a whole different branch. I鈥檓 sure there was an announcement made, but I never seemed to find out until I walked a book back and saw the sign on the door. I can adjust. I don鈥檛 take these things personally.
The other day, I returned a book to this latest entry in Library Bingo, and had nothing to pick up. So I browsed the actual physical shelves like a caveman. Honestly, what鈥檚 next? Picking live food off trees?
Anyway, there was a novel I hadn鈥檛 read, by an author I admire! I checked it out and sneaked away as though I鈥檇 found a diamond ring in a dark alley. I started reading it that night.
It was not good. This author had won the Pulitzer Prize, but not for this sad little opus. Still, I gave it every chance. Maybe it would redeem itself on the last page.
It did not.
And it was almost overdue. But they weren鈥檛 hounding me for it. Apparently, word was out: Nobody else wanted to read it, either. And, of course, when I went to return it, the library was closed. The sign directed me to the original location, 3 miles from home. Renovations were complete.
It was gorgeous. Spacious, friendly, and apparently ready for anything plate tectonics could throw at it. There was art; there was light; there were beanbag chairs, community rooms, large windows. In a world where facts are sometimes manufactured to order and the truth can twist out of reach, there is comfort and serenity in a library that stays put.
I returned my book, four weeks late. No one鈥檚 in line to check it out. I gave it a pat of encouragement. 鈥淔ind a shelf, and make yourself at home,鈥� I said to my book as I dropped it in the slot. 鈥淵ou鈥檙e not going anywhere for a good long time.鈥�
It鈥檚 my home now, too.
