A cupboard full of 鈥榳ild books鈥�: Singing the praises of Little Free Libraries
A Little Free Library filled with books stands outside a home in Hingham, Massachusetts, June 27.
Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff
Although I鈥檝e scanned the book review pages in newspapers and magazines for years, I鈥檝e come to a season in my reading life when my choices are often guided by neighbors.聽
In a nearby park, at the midpoint of my morning walk, I connect each day with a Little Free Library 鈥� one of those outdoor cabinets where readers can leave donated volumes and perhaps take home a few for themselves.
Little Free Libraries started in 2009, when Todd Bol built a simple box outside his home in Hudson, Wisconsin, and stocked it with books to share with his fellow residents. Mr. Bol died in 2018, but his idea continues to flourish, with some 200,000 registered Little Free聽Libraries around the world, according to the organization formed to champion Mr. Bol鈥檚 inspiration. At a time when anger and division loom large in the headlines, these miniature troves of literary treasure, broadly shared and open to all, are a reminder of what we can be at our best.聽
Why We Wrote This
In an era when the latest hot-off-the-press titles trend on social media, one writer extols the underrated pleasure of reading secondhand books shared by neighbors. These 鈥渨ild books鈥� offer a sense of serendipity, community, and connection.
The simple goodness of Little Free Libraries is easy to overlook these days, when new titles 鈥� the latest thriller, a hot-off-the-press whodunit, a just-released political tell-all 鈥� seem like the most fashionable books for the armchair or nightstand.
But these Little Free Libraries 鈥� in so many places, including my Baton Rouge, Louisiana, neighborhood 鈥� are abiding proof that recycled reads have their own appeal. Virginia Woolf said it best in her volume of essays, 鈥淪treet Haunting.鈥� 鈥淪econd-hand books are wild books, homeless books; they have come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which the domesticated volumes of the library lack.鈥�
Woolf came to mind the other day as I opened the door of my local Little Free Library and found a paperback edition of her 1915 novel, 鈥淭he Voyage Out,鈥� on the top shelf. The pages were a little bit swollen 鈥� perhaps from the damp of a now-vanished summer in the lap of some unknown reader who dozed away a day near the shore. Or so I imagined as I flipped through the chapters, looking for traces of a book鈥檚 life before it came to rest in my hands.聽
That鈥檚 the real charm of these Little Free Libraries, I suppose 鈥� that in enjoying the plenitude of anonymous donors, we find ourselves within the folds of a community.
What I also treasure about Little Free Libraries is their giddy sense of serendipity 鈥� the way they often seem to land a particular book with the right reader just when it鈥檚 desired.聽
I鈥檇 struggled with some of Woolf鈥檚 experimental fiction, but learning that 鈥淭he Voyage Out鈥� was a more traditional novel, I had set a goal to give it a try. My good intention had languished for months 鈥� until spotting a copy of 鈥淭he Voyage Out鈥� in that Little Free Library provided just the nudge I needed.聽
In a similar way, I鈥檝e wanted to try my hand at the detective mysteries of Alexander McCall Smith. As if reading my mind, a secret benefactor had left a copy of Mr. McCall Smith鈥檚 鈥淭he Full Cupboard of Life鈥� inside the cabinet for me as I arrived to browse the other day.聽
As if eavesdropping on my undeclared desires, an LFL patron deposited Randy Pausch and Jeffrey Zaslow鈥檚 鈥淭he Last Lecture鈥� on the giveaway shelf not long ago 鈥� a gift that almost had me skipping home to crack the spine on the authors鈥� wisdom.
I鈥檓 halfway through 鈥淭he Voyage Out,鈥� and I have no idea what book will speak to me on my next visit to our Little Free Library. I鈥檒l open the cabinet door as any lifelong reader does, eager to know what happens next.