Yay for Libraries

I counted my 2005 book list last week and discovered that of the twenty books I've read this year, I procured eighteen from the library. The two I purchased were 1) Fight Club, which no library in the interlibrary loan system owned. I'm not sure why a copy of Fight Club is so hard to come by in my county. The system has three copies of the film, two on DVD and one on VHS, but no copies of the novel. Maybe all the librarians figured someone else was going to pick up a copy, like boys who never ask out the pretty girl because they assume she already has a date. 2) No Country For Old Men by Cormac McCarthy. I'm a huge McCarthy fan. I checked the mailbox every day, after I got the Amazon "item shipped" e-mail, like a five year old waiting for a decoder ring. I also felt obligated to own that book, and I found the twelve person line for a library copy unacceptable.

So that leaves eighteen books for which I haven't paid but read in their entirety. You could probably split them in half by "available in hardcover only/available in paperback" categories. Separating out the very cheap (maybe seven, eight buck paperbacks) by the very expensive (maybe thirty buck hardcover), you could go with, say, eighteen dollars a book. Eighteen times eighteen is... I have saved enough money to buy eight tanks of gas because my local and federal government is willing to lend me books for free. How cool is that? Allow me to reflect on libraries a bit.

* I was not always a library adult. On the other hand, I was a consistent library middle and high schooler. My parents gave me permission, probably to get me the hell out of the house, to visit my local library on weeknights through middle and high school. I walked the half mile to the Chicago Public Library Roden branch, on Northwest Highway, a couple nights a week. The adult section of the library contained maybe four or five shelves, about ten feet long each, with a slightly longer stretch along the wall. Most of the books were way over my head and covered in dust. Twin spinning carousels carried what I remember as romance novels and self-help books. I sat near the window, if I could, and felt the cold through the glass as I read. I would stay until closing then half-run home under the starlit trees.

* I spent a lot of time in the libraries of the sundry and various institutions of higher learning cursed with the misfortune of my attendance. I commuted, except for one semester in central Illinois, so the library became a place where I could hang out between classes until I discovered the campus radio station. Even at ISU, where I lived for one long, lonely spring semester, I used the library as an acceptable location for my isolation. I mean, I looked less desperate, perhaps more romantic, and, at least, studious (which I was, honestly, since I had nothing else to do, since no one would talk with me) in a library cubicle than, say, at a lone table in a student union.

* My library use tapered off, save for academic responsibilities associated with graduate school, in my twenties. I lived in a neighborhood rife with used bookstores. Also, since I had my own apartment for the first time, I grew enamored with the visual of a shelf stacked with books, even if I hadn't read all of the displayed titles. I was more or less destitute, sure, but I could usually scrape together enough change for torn-up paperbacks and the occasional classic. Plus, I gave up the clean, cool libraries for the used bookstore's smell of decay. Since I had an apartment, and I didn't need to avoid my parents, I could read on my own couch without interruption from my naggy mother or tv obsessed dad.

At the same time I became a grad assistant for an insane Egyptian professor who sent me to the library about even twelve seconds to look up obscure articles on reading theory. I owe that man quite a bit because I grew, through his insanity, to love research. He also expected me to approach library research with the tenacity of a sex addict in Las Vegas. I mean, I took a perverse pride in my time in the musty academic stacks.

Music brought me back to the library. My friend Dan started burning discs he procured from his Illinois library, and on a lark, I logged onto the local library website and walked through the search function. I don't know if I was surprised, but the inter-library loan system had an absolute ton of interesting discs and hardly anyone seemed to be in line for most of them. I burned the latest from the Shins, Bright Eyes, Death Cab, etc., and went back in the catalog for about a hundred others. In fact, I think I personally am responsible for more copyright violations than a dorm room back in the napster days. I apologize, publicly, if I did anything illegal by copying library CDs. I'm fairly sure I did. I promise I never sold my copies, at least, so ask the judge to go easy on me.

My current library is decent. Now, it's not too huge, but the inter-library loan system covers most of the supply. I track down books or discs I want, I push a few buttons on my computer, and, a couple of days later, the materials show up behind the counter. Plus, the library has huge low shelf to ceiling windows across its south, east, and west walls. When the fall arrives, and I'm sitting in a corner, with a book, I'm not far removed from the kid at the Roden branch back in Chicago.

Now, I used to be one of those guys who had to own every book I read. I wrote in the margins and took pride in the length of my shelves. I'm not sure what happened to that guy. Maybe I grew up a few years, because I don't care all that much about people knowing what I read (although my later post about my reading this year will make that sound like bullshit). I can get books for free. And most of the time the ladies who work behind the counter are nice to me. So...in a phrase...yay libraries. I'm glad you're here, and I hope to grow old championing your services.