On libraries

Reflections on reading, learning, trust, and freedom

Libraries have always been one of my natural habitats. My first library has since been converted to city offices in my hometown, but let me introduce you to my experience of it.

There were no computers or “media” in those days, but this place had atmosphere. It was a Carnegie library that had opened in 1903. It had a neoclassical look, the sound, the smell, the feel of a structure that had been there for a century or longer, when in truth it was only a bit more than 50 years old when I first went there. It was a welcoming hall of learning.

The steps that led down to the children’s room from the main desk were marble or wood. They had depressions  in the middle worn by many feet on them through the years. The railings were smooth wood, polished by umpteen hands every day.

If I were to enter the children’s room at the bottom of the stairs today, I could still walk right to the shelf that had all the biographies. That was my favorite section for years. I think I read the one about Louisa May Alcott three times and the one about Jane Addams twice.

One of the children’s librarians was rather severe looking. Her arthritic index finger rested in a funny way on her pencil, bending at the end knuckle only. Her pencil had a date stamp clipped to it, so she could write and stamp without putting down one instrument and picking up another. I thought that was cool. I could fancy myself working in a library and using a tool like that.

When I graduated to the upstairs library, the fiction and nonfiction, including biographies, were in stacks behind the main desk. At one point I made a plan to start at the A’s in each section and work my way through to the Z’s, reading at least one book from each letter. That didn’t last long. Adult biographies seemed duller than those written for children, too.

Then I discovered the rack of mysteries by the front doors. Mary Stewart was a popular author at the time and, alongside Daphne DuMaurier, fast became one of my favorites. Stewart’s stories planted a desire in me to go to the places she brought to life, places like Cornwall, Provence, and Crete.

When I grew up, exploring the library became one of my favorite outings with my children wherever we lived. The children’s library was a lovely place to spend however long it held their interest. We would always take home an armload and read their choices over and over until the books were due, feeding the kids’ interests with more and more joy. One gravitated toward sports stories, another toward fantasy and adventure, and another toward nonfiction, specifically history and geography.

For a time our local libraries also loaned out artwork. Browsing through their collection and choosing a few to take home capped off our visits.

The day came when our children were old enough to read more grown-up books. I felt nervous that they would be exposed to subject matter that I did not think was appropriate. But I also knew I had no intention of being the restrictive kind of parent who had to read everything first – which wouldn’t have been practical anyway. I still have vivid memories of how my dad, who was also an English teacher, did not prohibit me from reading books once I graduated to the grown-up library. When I checked out Hemingway – I think it was For Whom the Bell Tolls -- and he saw me reading it at home, he in his understated way just cautioned me about some of the language I would encounter. He never forbade me to read anything. So my husband and I determined the wisest thing to do with our own children would be to talk with them about what they were reading instead of censoring their selections.

I write this at a time when a political movement, a minority one but with loud voices, one with which many Christian nationalist, evangelical, professed believers have aligned themselves, is removing books they deem immoral or subversive from school libraries and even public ones. As a parent, I understand the instinct to protect and shelter their own children, but I highly object to their drive to ban or censor books and other educational resources. I believe that instinct is being manipulated to serve the ends of those who want to control and narrow our people’s ability to think critically, to understand more than one perspective, to empathize, or even to be curious and creative. Such attempts are short-sighted, too, because children grow up. You can’t keep them from being exposed to diverse viewpoints and uncomfortable facts any more than you can keep them from eating sugar, no matter how much you believe that is bad for them. They will grow up and go to a friend’s house and be offered ice cream – and they’ll find out they like it.

When you present children with only a sanitized version of history or other propagandized “education” because you think it is more patriotic or godly, and then they eventually find out the truth, their trust in you ends up shattered. A parent’s job is to protect, yes, but also to prepare children for life, which includes being a lifelong, curious, self-teaching, discerning learner in our fast-changing world. A parent’s job is not to be a prison guard. Don’t shut down the love of reading or the ability to think; nurture it.

I still go to the library when I need a quiet respite. It grounds me. Sometimes I go to pick up a book I’ve put on hold, but even then I always plan enough time to wander the stacks, too. Maybe even to sit and read, with breaks to journal in the notebook I’ve carried with me.

I have built my own library, too. I’m running out of places to put the books in my cozy home. But they are all my friends. If they don’t end up being my friends, I pass them on to someone else or the local thrift store. But sometimes I just need to go to the library, to see what new friends I might meet. I thank my parents for planting that seed in me. I’m glad to have planted it in my children. I hope you do the same. 

(Photo by Element5 Digital: https://www.pexels.com/photo/selective-focus-photography-of-bookshelf-with-books-1370296/)