It was mere fantasy until today. In an exceptional snow shower, I visited Brighton's new Jubilee Library. I elbowed the hoi polloi out of the way and began trawling the fiction shelves. So many new books! But not one I wanted, of course. Copies by the dozen of The Alchemist, Vernon God Little and sundry Dan Brown-type trash. In the end I took Oracle Night by Auster. Last time I read him was around the time of Leviathan and I want to see what the new stuff is like.
Upstairs in the non-fiction section, I picked out books on Borges, Kierkegaard and the history of photography.
Like most library users, I really can't be bothered with all the non-book related stuff, but the self-service withdrawal is fantastic. You place the books on a wooden stall, swipe your membership card, press the relevant button and it prints out a little slip telling you when the books are due back.
Reluctantly, after an hour on a binge-high, I re-entered the blizzard and returned to the place where the books are to be read. Or at least stored before they're returned and replaced by newer books.
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2 comments:
Libraries are to me the epitome of civilisation. Any book you want - for free or the 55p reservation charge. Astonishing riches.
And there are no hard looks when I, middle aged suburban housewife, on a whim this morning, having read a glowing review, decide to check out a comic book (is that politically incorrect nomenclature for graphic novel? The Watchmen) along with my Sebald and Henry James.
Happy borrowing.
I saw somebody there reading a comic book. Myself, I didn't make it as far as the Children's Library.
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