Most times, the library goes easy and that’s how it should be because I love the library.
Most times, the library just presents books to me. They
practically spring off the shelves, causing considerable excitement and
anticipation. Every shelf seems to contain a title I’ve been wondering about, or
something new from an author I like, or something out of the blue that just
looks too interesting to pass up.
Most times, it’s just like that. But, sometimes, occasionally,
the library doesn’t go like that. Today was one of those days.
I think it’s mostly indicative of the frame of mind that I’m
in when I enter the library. Most times, I’m well up for it, and the library
lays itself out before me like a world of possibilities. Today, I went to the library
to escape all the other things I was supposed to be doing and that sometimes
works but, then again, sometimes it doesn’t. Today, I scanned all of the fiction
shelves, went the way I always go, and nothing in the entire place presented
itself to me as something I needed to take out and read.
This is obviously a silly state of affairs. There are thousands
and thousands of books on the shelves and there are at least hundreds in there
that I should be pleased to sit down with and read. But this is what I’m saying
to you today; sometimes the library doesn’t go easy.
I have my routine. I start at ‘A’ and work my way through
all the fiction. Wait. Strike that. I don’t start at ‘A’ at all. I start at the
returned bookshelf and also at the shelf where the library people put up a
seemingly random selection of new titles and other, older, titles that they
Nothing there for me: nada, zilch, zero.
(Of course there is, really. There is stuff there for me it’s
just that the library is a state of mind and it was never going to go easy
So, here I am at ‘A.’ ‘A’ is normally good pickings. Maybe
that’s because I’m sharp and ready for the book-hunt or maybe it’s something else.
I sometimes wonder if some writers took on names that start with the letter ‘A’
just to catch the readers who search out their books alphabetically. There are
good books on display here in ‘A,’ even today, but I’ve read them or I don’t
fancy them right now. Onward to ‘B.’ There are letters I give more attention to
than others. ‘M’ has brought me pleasures over the years so I always have a
keen look there. And ‘K,’ of course. Ever since I started finding Stephen King there
in the 70’s, the joy of happening upon a new book by him has never gone away. And
even though I know now that no new book is due, and that I would end up buying
it anyway, still, I always give ‘K’ a good once-over. For old time’s sake.
On a day when the library is not going easy, the tension starts
to rise when you’re up around the ‘U’ ‘V’ and ‘W’s. How can I have got this far
without a couple of books tucked under my arm? This upper echelon part of the
alphabet seems somehow more rarefied. As if the chances of finding something
interesting are somehow less likely up there. I have had great times up in the ‘V’’s
and the ‘W’’s. Not today, of course. Today it is a just a barren wasteland of meaningless
titles and unrecognisable spines.
Now I have reached the end of the fiction shelves and I have
nothing to show for it. I tell myself I will go to the shop and buy myself a
book. But, if I can’t find a single thing I want to read, in this entire
universe of reading-material, what hope do I have in the little bookshop?
Should I amble down the Biography section, maybe, have a look at the Graphic
I go back through the fiction to my favourite letters. I stand
in front of the books and I threaten myself a little bit. If I can’t find
something good to read on the shelf I’m currently looking at, then I am a big
fool. I search that particular shelf with microscopic attention and then, of
course, I start to see possibilities. I find two books, slender tomes, both by
writers whose work I have previously enjoyed. My arm feels better with
something tucked under it.
That’s the trick, you see. It’s obviously not the library’s
fault if I’m having a bad day there. My mind is elsewhere, my brain is fogged.
The library is always the library, consistent, welcoming, and replete with the
best of things.
It’s me. Sometimes I just don’t go easy.
While, sometimes, I do.