Every now and then when I venture outside my comfort zone and look at the ugly, dark spaces of social media and the “comments section”-crowd, inevitably there will be someone making a comment that reads: “wHy dO wE eVeN nEeD LiBrAiRiEs WhEn ThErE iS aMaZoN!?”
I always have to close my eyes, take a deep breath, and feel thankful that I am not meeting this person face-to-face, because apparently the fact that they are holding a device in their hands that gives them access to the entire catalogue of collective human knowledge has not improved their thinking skills in the slightest. I’m going to assume they also believe the earth is flat and that viruses won’t affect them if they simply stop washing their hands, sit in the sun and shove some oregano up their arses.
Libraries are not just places where books are kept; they are so much more than that. I live in a village of 800 people. There are three places that have social significance in a village this size: The pubs, the churches, and the library. Since I care little for pubs and churches, the library is My Place. It’s a neutral place; Both pub regulars and church ladies go to the library, and everyone feels comfortable there. Did you notice in the cover picture that the sub title of of the Talkeetna Library is “Community Resource Center”? The library is where we vote and where our Community Council meets. The library lets anyone book their media room. The library is for everyone. Here it is once more, just in case you missed it:
And librarians? They are angels. They are people from all walks of life and all convictions who serve all of us with professionalism and grace. One day, my autistic son with eidetic memory walked into the Talkeetna library and described to the librarians a book he had seen there once and wanted to read: “It has a bulldog with a firefly on its nose.” It was on like Donkey Kong. These two ladies spent the whole day looking for the book my son described. The librarians and I sent many text messages back and forth that day; they offered up books and Draco rejected them. They could not find a book with a picture on the cover that my son described, so they offered him two others:
Draco made a happy noise. “Yes! Yes, I want to read this!”
When we checked out the books, we found out that one of these books was in fact the book. The picture Draco described to the librarians was inside the book, not on the cover.
And I know there’s the “Kindle Argument”. Look, I don’t know whether I’m old fashioned, or whether my amblyopia plays a part, or whether I am “that weirdo that lives on an off-grid, zombie-proof compound and warns everyone about pandemics and the Digital Dark Age,” but I simply cannot get with the Kindle thing. I’m not sorry. I cannot read books on a screen. Like a weighted blanket, simply feeling a book in my hand is relaxing. Reading is a multisensory experience. I need to smell that paper. I need to feel paper between my fingers and hear that crackle, swish when I turn the page. I need to be able to read when the power goes out. My power never goes out here in the boonies; we’ve made certain of that, but I know yours does some times. What if the power goes out for a long time? Will you have something to read? And in the past you may have mocked me for my ideas, but when you post your stupid “No one in 2015 answered correctly when asked where they saw themselves in 5 years” you look like a damn fool. In 2015 I lived here, on my Zombocalypse compound, with my books. I’ve been planning that since 2009. And you have always mocked me, relentlessly. When I bought sanitizer and gloves and respirator cannisters when Ebola came to Dallas, how you mocked me! Who has the last laugh now? The girl with all those books, Virkon and N95’s, that’s who!
I like old books, weird books, sexy books, fancy books. I like ALL THE BOOKS. I read science books that are ancient and have been discredited. I read books that no one ever thought were credible.
When the McKinly fire crept up upon us last year, and our home was three miles from the mandatory evacuation zone, I packed three things:
- My important family documents and photographs.
- All my firearms.
- All my Folio edition books and other special books.
I read classics. I read hard science. I read science fiction. I read cerebral post-modern stuff. I read pulp fiction. I read high fantasy. I read murder mysteries. I read non-fiction history and philosphy. Shit, I’ve been known to read bonnet novels when the mood strikes. I read ALL THE BOOKS! Since the whole COVID lockdown began, I’ve been to Chicago, New York, New England, Alexandria, Japan, Iraq, a galaxy far, far away, other dimensions in the multiverse, and a few other places not on this earth. Because I read.
A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one.
George R. R. Martin.
It is not just the Talkeetna Library I love. I love all libraries. When I do actually travel corporeally, I always visit the libraries. Public libraries, college libraries, ANY library that will let me in. I want to see your books; your regular books and also your specialized ones. I want to see the restricted section and sit behind the glass with gloves on and see books I would never otherwise see. Shit, if there was a library like the one in John Michael Greer’s The Weird of Hali: Kingsport, where I’d have to worship one of the Great Old Ones to even FIND the library, my ass would be like: “All hail Nyarlathotep! Ia Ia Cthulhu fthagn!” just to get into that library!
Literacy and a love for reading starts in childhood, and the Talkeetna Library’s Summer Reading Program is one of the highlights of our summer ever year. We have met Ghost, the snowy owl from Bird TLC:
The head librarian was gracious enough to let me volunteer to refresh my old Junior Ranger classes on squid dissection and mosses and lichens:
Last year, my prodigious reader, Rigel, saved all his tickets (he read ALL the Harry Potter books and the whole Wildwood series), hoarded all his tickets like Smaug the dragon, and won the big prize of a zip line tour.
That is not why we go to the program, of course. We go to learn and be around others who love learning and reading, but it was an amazing experience and well deserved for the little boy who loves books so much.
This year with COVID abound, we didn’t have a conventional summer reading program, but every week, dutifully, the librarians had a box of activity bags ready for us whenever I pulled up on Thursdays! We’ve done origami, balloon animals, chalk art, turned coffee filters into butterflies! We’ve also learned about fish, spiders, wildflowers, and our solar system!
They also put up a fantastic scavenger hunt that took us all over the area!
And when I was making my Perfect Pickles, I realized I had not grown dill in the garden this year! Ack! But not to worry, because the Talkeetna Library has a community herb garden, where you may take herbs you need, so long as you leave some for everyone else.
Our libraries are so much more than a place to get a book when you cannot buy one. Our librarians are so much more than stern people who tell you to be quiet. Our libraries are a place of social gathering, just as much as pubs or churches are. Librarians are the brothers and sisters in the order of Saint Leibowitz. They are the sword in the darkness; They are the shield that guards the realms of men (from illiteracy). They are the bringers of the dawn (in the digital dark age). They are angels, each and every one. Thank your lucky stars if you have a library nearby.
Excellent! Love this!