I walked out of there into the cold, dark night, excited and elated.
Earlier that day, I saw a poster in the library about an upcoming workshop, “Canadian Writers You May Not Have Heard Of“. Given my lack of knowledge on any Canadian writers, I thought this would be perfect. I popped along at five to seven, and the room was filling fast.
Over the next 90 minutes, a crowded but comfortable room reviewed books by Canadian authors, some set here, some set elsewhere. They looked at the celebrated, the not so celebrated and the celebrated-who-did-not-deserve-it. The group comprised mostly women, a few men, from a mixture of ages and accents, sometimes agreeing with each other, sometimes disagreeing. The facilitator guided us through the workshop with passion, inclusiveness and humour. I wondered how I could learn to do that job.
I love books. I love being taken to another time or place, another person’s world. I love absorbing myself in a land built with words. I love recommending a book that is then loved. I encourage children to read at any chance I get. Whether in book form or e-reader form, and most recently, audio, I love them.
Being part of a group that oozes love for the written word took my passion and multiplied it by 100. I fed off their enthusiasm, their energy, and took notes on recommendations. There were a few books handed around, and from flicking through to a random page and sampling the prose, I could make my mind up what was for me or not. I also took note of those not my usual style but worth a try. That’s the great thing about such meetings: you push yourself out of your usual shelf.
How do books get known if they don’t have a big marketing ploy behind them? The facilitator pointed to the library as key in this area, ensuring little known writers also get to the readers.
The statement reminded me of my favourite book, Shadow Of The Wind, and the Cemetery of Forgotten Books which ensures that any book written is kept safe. To me, this is the essence of the Library, keeping books circulating. Regardless of your income, status, interests, you have access to books, at no cost. What wealth!
I joined the library not long after arriving here. It opened up to me a vast array of books , not to mention the newspapers, magazines and the DVD collection. I felt intimidated when informed that if I do not return my books, and fail to respond to the multitude of warnings, the library will hand my debt over to a Debt Collection Agency. However, on behalf of the books, I applauded the approach.
Before leaving Ireland, I dropped hundreds of my books at the second-hand store. Only my absolute favourites could be stored at my parents’ house. It was better than recycling, or, worse, landfill, but the amount of waste struck me. The library helps me be a little more ethical in my shopping, pioneering “Re-use, Re-use, Re-use”.
I had gone to the library that day to return books. 2 were late, and I asked about the fine. “We don’t charge you”, she explained, “we have a guilt jar”, pointing to the jam jar on the counter with $2 and other coins. Guilt prompted me to add another tooney (A Canadian dollor has a picture of a loon bird on it thus known as a loony; a $2 then becomes a tooney). An excessive fine, I thought, but I gave graciously because I didn’t have to. Sitting reading at a window table, the quiet calm relaxed me. People came and used the computer suite, sat and read the magazines and wandered around the shelves.
The library is the refuge for books that could slip from memory or fail to make it big in publishing. It is a refuge for second-hand books, saving them from landfill. It is the refuge for the reader, offering a quiet oasis of calm, whether your stay in town is short or long.