Public Libraries

I can remember my first visit to a public library – I was about 5 years old and my mother took me to Newington Library on the Walworth Road to visit the Children’s Section. It maybe a dew-eyed nostalgia but I can still vaguely recall the impression that the building and the books created for me. A world of wonderful possibility that had a slightly bad smell and dusty atmosphere; but then maybe that was just particular to libraries in Southwark. I can remember the vivid books on revolving shelves and the librarians on there brightly coloured but ridiculous furniture, as if the tactile experience was as important as the words and pictures.

Looking back to my childhood, I loved the sense of owning books even if it was just for the period defined by the thud of the librarian’s date stamp. Walking out the library doors laden with copies of the Secret Seven, the Hardy boys, Roald Dahl, Willard Price, Herge’s Tintin and of course Asterix; was a pure, unadulterated childhood joy that my unnecessarily overburden adult self has nothing but envy and jealousy for. A time when words and pictures stoked up more than just excitement but a belief in possibility, purpose and other-worldliness fuelled by the power of imagination.

The wonder of the library was in the choice, a sense of freedom to wonder the aisles and turn the revolving shelves until a title; book cover or a favourite author struck me. If we are honest, books are expensive items considering that most copies purchases are only read once, they are a serious investment for a one-time experience. This does serve to underline the importance of the library, in that despite the limitations of personal finance or the narrow focus of a literary education at school – a public resource that will provide a gateway to the world of books.

Over the last week I felt something of a return to this notion, to this inner-childish delight for books if you can stomach the cliché, when I visited the Seattle Public Library in the downtown area. It was a truly exciting place and one local whom I met within the halls of the building described it as ‘a temple to reading’. I am not sure that I am content with the analogy of worshipping books but the architecture and construction did create a sense reverence - not in a religious or spiritual sense but more akin to joyful monumentality.

As I have blathered on in indulgent, misty-eyed reminiscing, I feel it necessary to take a pause and return with a separate piece on the Seattle Public Library. This is in the hope that I can refrain from inflicting my juvenile experiences on you all whilst examining this fantastic amphitheatre for the literary community!