Return to the public library

I used to know every little nook and cranny in my local public library as a kid growing up in Germantown, Maryland, having spent countless hours exploring every section and every shelf. In our upbringing (that is, my brother and I), our parents imposed many restrictions on things that they thought to be were of frivolous waste of time, and just about the only thing that we were permitted to do pretty much limitlessly was reading; as long as we had a book in our hands, they were content that we were making a productive use of our time. I read voraciously; I could not get enough of the adventures, ideas, instructions and stories that unfolded from the pages, and every week, I used to check out a dozen books and I'd already have devoured a good handful before I even got home with the newly won treasures. It was in those books where I've found my friends growing up -- Encyclopedia Brown, Hardy Boys, 'Find-Your-Own-Advevnture' books, Tolkien, Austen, Maupassant, Steven King, Hegel, Nitzche, etc. -- and I believe that although it was my formal education that shaped my conscious mind, my subconscious was much more influenced by my readings. (And now you see how an innocent boy who used to delight in Curious George can grow up to be a deviant mind.) Well, I digress...

After college, I discovered that over the years, Barnes&Noble and Borders with their shelves lined with crisp new books, smartly arranged displays and cafes full of predictably pleasantly demeanored patrons have taken over the place where the public libraries used to be in my life. Most of the books I've read since college were purchased and I realized that I haven't stepped foot into a public library since college! (More than a week on the bench, you come up with all sorts of random thoughts.) I decided that my next adventure would be to check out the public library in downtown Chicago (Washington Harold Library).

The first thing it struck me were the patrons. This was the first time I visited a city library, and where as the suburban libraries that fill my memory were swarming with nice suburban folks and their smartly dressed, neatly groomed offsprings, there was a lot more homeless-looking types and menacing-loner types in the city library... a lot more. However, after I got used to the demographics, I could also see that it was filled with a lot of college students (no doubt, due to its proximity to Chicago city schools and local universities), moms (who are probably checking out books for their kids while they're in classes in school) and elderly folks. I suppose, this is probably the more correct representation of the reader demographics.

As for the books, the shelves were lined with books that have obviously passed through many hands, with cracked bindings and yellowed pages, and even in the new book section, most of the books have already been checked out a few times. My Barnes&Noble sensibilities and its love for faux-mahogany shelves and elegant ambiance must have turned me into a privileged-elitist snob over the years, as I found myself turned off by the prospect of picking up a 'used' book to read. (Whoa, hold on there.) I was struck my how bourgeois, elitist, snobby my reaction was.

I spent the next few hours exploring the shelves... the metalic, grey, industrial types -- staple of public libaries -- and looked up books that I used to love as a kid. Most of them were there, tattered around the edges with cracked bindings... in strangely endearing ways... the way they are in the pages of my memory.

I made a new libary card. My first public libary card in over 10 years. I'll return, soon...

Well, I'll be back within the next three weeks.

I return this copy of Brothers Karamazov!