Sub-station

12 authors write about the libraries they love

by:HKKYO     2019-08-23
For most readers and writers
And the general book lovers
The library enjoys special honor and respect.
We have several authors tell us about their local public library or share their past library memories. [
Read Susan Olin\'s Michael Lewis review of the library book. ]
The first library I knew was a room upstairs in a storefront in the small town of Kentucky where a librarian did not approve of the children handling books. (I begged; she relented. )
The second is a van with bookshelves, sent out in various parts of our rural county, a godsend for children and many adults who cannot easily reach the town.
The whole world stopped on my gravel road.
It came once a month and only allowed us to read three books at a time, but the lady in the bookstore had a heart.
She asked me to check out as much as possible.
Since then, there is a library anywhere I have been.
These of us are bald.
In places where there is no memory, the bone school will always find special elegance in the library, where the temple gate is open to all believers, regardless of their lineage.
Now I have a normal professional dependency on Internet research, but my heart still belongs to the Church of the original source.
Every book I write has some magic and I found it in a physical bookshelf or file.
Or the facade, as far as my first novel is concerned.
The library I used to go to in Tucson was Widodo with long pods on it: Bean Trees.
Recently, this is the cache of Charles Darwin\'s letter to a female scientist in Wenlan, New York. J.
It used to be a very old brother of kekong.
I found an English dictionary in a special collection at the University of Arizona Library.
I shouldn\'t have left the room, but I was very convincing.
I said, \"If you ask me to borrow this book, something good may happen.
I brought it home.
There was a novel called The Bible of barnonwood.
This is my thanks.
You point out to every librarian who has ever helped a child like me that no one has ever found her entrance to the world\'s citizenship through the library bookshelf from anywhere.
If one of them ever begged you to change the rules, I would say: let her do it. —
Barbara Kim, \"No Shelter,\" these are you in St.
Louis County Library: check books;
Look at the banjo or banjo;
Participate in class 101 of coding (If you were a child;
Get high school diploma online (
If you are an adult);
Have a free lunch in the summer, including Friday\'s pizza.
These are some of the things I personally do at St.
Louis County Library headquarters in the suburbs opposite the mall: celebrate my two recent books by reading;
I took a photo for a magazine article;
Attended by Kelson Whitehead, Emily Giffen, Ron Suskin, Tracy cheylivale, George Hodgman, zimmermanda ·
My two peaks
Louis\'s experience
Like in the most intense HolyLouisiest —
It happened at the headquarters of the county library.
When we stayed here for a few months in 2007, I wasfiancé and now-
My husband and I attended Jonathan Franzen\'s reading.
For some people in the book world, Franzen is a talented and grumpy person. To St.
Louisans, he is a boy from his hometown and we are proud of him.
At Franzen\'s 2007 event, he read an article about selling his parents\' house, which is located just a few miles away from where he stands. During the Q. and A.
At the meeting, there were quite a few people in the audience who knew Franzen or his family and might even be cameo in his non-fiction.
I was filled with a sense of surprise: Because I live in St. Now
Louis, I think I would have some experience, including literary experience, if I lived somewhere else.
Ten years later, I was invited to an interview on the stage, which is also a library fund.
Another beloved Native Son: Actor Jon Ham.
More than 800 people, about 95% of them women, were squeezed into chairs in the space usually occupied by bookshelves, before Hamm spoke, those of us who have not yet been fascinated by him must be chasing him.
He is charming, funny and unreasonable handsome because he admits the Holy
Louis is a city with both serious problems and many excellent qualities.
I moved to Minneapolis in August.
But this hunch that I had in the same building ten years ago was confirmed: in the library and elsewhere, because I lived in St.
Louis, I \'ve had experiences that I wouldn\'t have had if I lived somewhere else. —
Curtis sitenfield, \"think about it, I\'ll say,\" When I was a boy, on school holidays, starting at the age of 7, my parents will send me to the local library on their way to work.
This is a ceremony and the reason why I like the holidays.
The library is a red brick building on the London Road in East gerazus.
At the beginning, I will go to the children\'s library, at the back, open the card index, list books by topic, explore ghosts or magic, time travel or space.
I will find a book I like and read all the things written by the author.
I found that librarians can give me books they don\'t have through the miracle of mutual borrowing. they will.
As far as librarians are concerned, I am just another customer, and I have received some degree of respect, and I do not remember not getting that respect elsewhere, even at school.
Eventually, I started reading the children\'s library in alphabetical order and reading it in the order of the author.
I can\'t imagine being happier than that.
When the library is closed at 6 I will walk home and go home for dinner in time.
It was a perfect arrangement and only hunger would spoil, so I would take a sandwich in a plastic bag and reluctantly walk out to the parking lot and laugh at it as quickly and efficiently as possible.
Eating time is not reading time.
I had read the children\'s library when I entered the teen age, so moved to the adult library.
No one is trying to stop me.
I found that reading it in alphabetical order meant that I did come across many very tedious books, so I started looking for my favorite author --
Brian Aldis of A, Ursula K.
Le Guin in G, RA.
Lafferty in L, etc.
By this time, I walked to the library in the morning and closed home at night.
It is still my favorite place in the world.
When I was 17 years old, they took it down and built a new library. now the library is gone.
The librarians sometimes stop me from telling the story.
They pointed out that the library should not be considered or used as a child --
Pay attention to the service, wild children should be discouraged from playing on bookshelves and bookshelves.
These are all true.
Still, one of the many mansions it must contain if there is a paradise is a red brick Victorian building with all the wood and shelves waiting for me.
The shelves are filled with books from beloved authors, as good or better as books I know.
I will read through the adult library and then, in order to get the perfect happiness, I will enter the children\'s library and do not need to leave it.
Not even a sandwich in the parking lot. —
Neil Gaiman, \"American God\", when I was 6, my father sent me to the first library two blocks away from home in Oakland, California.
This is an old red brick building with gorgeous castle decorations and huge double doors, and it is impossible for a child to be strong enough to push away.
When I was standing in a spacious room, I felt small and timid.
The only place I \'ve been to where the ceiling is so high is the Church and the hospital.
The first is the proviso to enter heaven, and the other is fever, pain, and fear.
I soon learned that this huge room is like a toy shop and everything is free.
My parents seldom buy children\'s books.
Why pay for something that can be read in an hour and run out?
The children\'s area is on the left closest to the tall Gothic window.
The simplest book is at the bottom.
Since I can already read it, I know that I should choose books with higher bookshelves and greater difficulty.
This shows that I am smarter than the rest of my age.
I now realize that this is evidence that I know the concept of competition and its consequences of pride or shame.
Anything easy in my home is not worth doing.
But here I am allowed to choose for myself and anything in these books will remain private.
My first library gave me the freedom to exist in private, to choose from, and even to be greedy.
I brought 10 books for the first time.
Illustrated books, fables, fairy tales and happy stories of white children and their kind parents.
A week later, starting now, I was allowed to walk alone to the library, with 10 books I had read, knowing that I could choose more books to provide my huge secret room, my imagination is mine. —
Amy Tan, where did the past start, mom told me before she sent me to the Medgar Evers library that the books were the gateway to black American survival.
Mom believes that if I can read, write and master everything that white Mississippi thinks literature, I will be more likely to predict and escape the worst part of my state, the most terrible place in my country.
I\'m 10 years old and it doesn\'t make much sense to me.
No matter what time of the day, the Medgar Evers Library smells like wet carpets and sugar cane.
Next to the librarian\'s desk is a small, dusty bowl of chewy, sugary orange slices that say \"no \".
The sign made me laugh.
To Jackson\'s mother and other adults, Miss.
The library is a training base.
I train at home and the books are on the wall.
I trained in a large library on the Jackson State campus and my mother taught political science classes.
I trained in a small library at the Sacred Family Catholic School.
Compared to the library I normally train, Medgar Evers is bare, but the books highlighted there are written by black authors.
A small part of the library is about the work of Langston Hughes.
Mom thought I had read every word of the book she specified.
The fact is that I have never read any book covers except spider Anansi.
Today, as I spread out on the floor next to Highlight magazine, I read a book called Langston Hughes: The poet of his people.
For the first time in my life, I didn\'t rush to turn a page.
I reread the paragraph I didn\'t understand.
I reread the paragraph I understood too clearly.
I checked the book so I could reread it when I got home.
My mother asked me what I read when I got on the bus.
\"Something that makes me better,\" I told her . \".
\"Something that makes me feel good. ”—
Kiese Laymon, heavy: American memoir on the beach, the water under the sun is Sapphire;
The ghost of spring break is still dancing on the table.
But further inland, the Library knows another Fort Lauderdale.
Seven years ago, I studied in the main library.
They got mint green tea, nut, honey cake.
Most of my book trip took place in bookstores, but in Fort Lauderdale the border was closed and the Indian islands were gradually reduced.
So the library got involved in the literary identity of the town.
There are workshops and writer performances;
They sponsor a book fair every year.
The downtown building is located near the rail track, which divides the east coast of Florida into economic and ethnic divisions.
It attracts travelers, nomads and refugees from both sides of the track.
A few years after the first reading, my daughter and I met some other parents and children on the steps of the library.
We were tired and hot, so glad to be in the air. conditioning.
There are some common temptations.
There are books, computers, toys and children\'s chess. size pieces.
Then we heard that there was a moon stone on display in the library.
\"From the real moon?
The children cried.
Before we found an exhibition, we searched several floors of the library.
The rocks are small, gray and inconspicuous. “That’s it? Asked.
But when I went to bed that night, I reminded my daughter, \"think about it, we have a part of the moon in our library.
The miracle passed through her face.
She nodded seriously.
\"Let\'s go back tomorrow.
When you hear Fort Lauderdale, it\'s probably not literature that comes to mind first.
On this sunburned land
The library whispered.
It provides us with the weight of starlight, the light of the moon and the music of uninterrupted imagination for free. —Diana Abu-
Twenty years ago, I lived in Lincoln City in the eastern United States.
A small village that lost the library
Lincoln is a mountain city, on the mountainside of Vermont\'s fifth peak, only a thousand people, although it can see leaves in autumn, which is far from the picturesque small village, there are ski resorts there to attract tourists.
But it has a regular shop where mint chocolate brownie can be baked every calorie
In 1998, it had a library as big as the living room that the people we lived there cherished.
That summer, after four weeks of rain, the New Haven River flooded the banks and flooded the library.
5 feet of the water poured in and destroyed 80% of the collections and every children\'s book that didn\'t check out because they were placed on the lowest shelf.
The next day, when my neighbor piled up the books that had accumulated water, some people were crying.
Without a library, I will always remember the sadness of life.
By that time my daughter was 4 years old and a large part of our daily life was coming together to pick books. I wasn’t alone.
The entire village suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder, as the library is one of the only parts of the community that can comfortably reside for many generations.
There are children\'s story time, yoga for the elderly, class projects for middle school students.
But I also remember how we built a new library once the loss hit the past.
With the help of the American people
Readers from 38 states sent us money.
Others drove from far away Pennsylvania to Vermont in a car full of books.
We don\'t ask: strangers just feel our pain and want to do something.
Within two years, we have a new library.
This summer, I chatted with Deborah Lundbeck, director of the New Haven Community Library in Vt.
\"One of my greatest joys is connecting readers to books,\" Lundbech told me . \".
\"We ate 11 a few days ago-year-
The old girl here is very excited and we have five books and six books in the series she is reading.
\"No one will confuse the stone lions of the Vermont library and the New York Public Library with the 55 million catalog items.
But they are important, even the size of the living room.
The library not only connects us with books.
They linked us together. —
My nearest library is the art of Port Townsend --and-
The craft Carnegie, allied with the Jefferson County Library.
Port Townsend, located on the Washington Olympic Peninsula, is known for its coastal landscape, Victorian architecture, and exquisite private gardens.
It has been a cultural pillar of the region for a century, although like all small towns, it also has its own warring factions.
This town attracts all kinds of people.
Tourists, shipbuilders, scholars, artists, mathematicians, gardeners, musicians, scientists, birdwatchers, organic farmers, filmmakers.
Carnegie director, Melody Sky Essler, is new-
Outgoing librarians: a group of people, hospitable.
A few years ago, she studied art in Egypt and was shocked from the heart at the Library of Alexandria.
In Snohetta-
She asked about an empty niche and learned that it was a memorial space where the ancient scrolls would disappear.
She was moved by the power of a library, and after 2,000 years of its destruction, its value would still echo --
She turned her study from art to library.
The muscular Port Townsend Library is kept busy from the opening to the last exit of the day, not only viewing books, but also viewing craft packs, movies, magazines, music DVDs.
Most of Port Townsend\'s population seems to be crossing the building every day.
Like other libraries, it is also a pass
Transition through the local.
But upstairs, the beautiful and calm old reading room is still a hundred years old.
One reason for the success of the library is the population of the town.
A feature of Port Townsend is the participation of citizens in hundreds of volunteer programs from the Marine Science to the power sculpture competition.
The library is very popular and despite the staff of more than 15 people, more than 70 volunteers have made the place efficient and attractive. But Ms.
Essler\'s personal commitment to the library is more than just a love for the community.
She believed and said, \"the librarian lives and dies because of the rights of the First Amendment. ”—
Anne procus, the basks, in the book I started reading English, A girl drank from a small bottle marked \"basks\" and she could go through a small door into the beautiful garden.
But she got a fright and after a cry she ate a cake, e k m, and it was too big for the door and she didn\'t want to open it again.
It\'s already snowing.
I am ten years old and wait for my father to pick me up in the library.
I took the book back to the table. All done?
Asked the librarian.
I just checked.
This book is a British classic. she is the surea girl I want. (
Of course, she knows that what a girl like me wants is a snow face and enlarged eyes. )
I told her I had seen it.
I mean, I \'ve come in from that door and can\'t go back.
But I don\'t want to cry, I don\'t want to be overwhelmed by tears.
I don\'t want to explain, she has definitely read Why girls like me are afraid of a storybook.
Soon, when he walks into the door, she will see for herself that my father has shrunk since he came to the country, and at first there is nothing drastic about it, but a child used to stretch his neck to see the eyes of the sun when he was far away.
Out of the Pan Am flight, he must have felt how the scales changed, the buildings were getting higher and higher, and the little girl raised her head, trying to measure from the look on his face what this oversized world was made, it seems that they are getting older as they disembark.
How can I grow much longer than him, like a heart that hasn\'t been thrown away yet?
His Panama hat, his salmon.
He was dressed in a suit, with a thick beard and a dark olive color that looked like those nationals.
The ancient clothes stored in the cabinet are dorsur Island.
This is trade-
Come to America: you become as small as the country you come from, a spot on the ocean that I can apply with my thumb.
But think about the chances of his children!
Here, the door will open with learning and application, which is closed for girls like me.
That\'s why he sent me to the library when he went to find a job and why I was determined to read every book on those bookshelves.
Until looking at the towering stacks of books, I began to reduce my ambition, hoping that he would not come in and embarrass me, a girl looking out at the Public Library, waiting to suck him dry with her raised hand, when I rushed to pretend not to disturb him in, he would mistake it for a wave of Hello --
So I hope in memory, watching him get smaller and smaller, a drop of dust flowing down the hourglass and nothing. —
When I was 27 years old, I decided to write a novel, \"I left it to my own woman \".
I am a graduate student in Orange County, California.
, Has been happily writing short stories, but the idea of the first page in page 300 made me feel scared.
I needed a way not to give up, so I decided to write 5 to 10 pages a day until I had a draft.
It keeps me going and I doubt I will.
But there\'s another amazing thing here: The Newport Beach Public Library.
Every morning, I packed my laptop and some snacks to distract my family (
Dishes, phone)
Nest yourself next to the big windows of the library
I looked out and there was a bush full of rabbit holes behind the building.
A very comforting, very
Orange County landscape)
It\'s impossible for me to try to do this.
It looks like this. it makes us have nothing.
I remember in a scene where the parents of the three children announced that they would adopt their daughter to her aunt and uncle.
I feel so sleepy.
What does a character say on such a night?
And why do I think I can write a novel?
I looked at the hillside and looked at the woman who was next to Carrell --
Eat star burst
I looked at the library and the library.
Thousands of peoplemillions? —
A person who has never written that page has written a few pages.
Each is a magic, some alchemy reaction between knowledge, faith and invention.
I turned my attention from the library back to my screen and found the sound of that scene.
One page, then the next.
I drafted a draft six weeks later.
It\'s a mess, but it\'s still alive.
The last day when I left my Carrell I gave the window a highfive.
I did it with the library. —
Ramona Ausubel, \"Awayland\", my first library was in use in 1914, and Andrew Carnegie provided $5,000 to a small town in the south of Appalachian, North Carolina
When I was a child, there were three blocks of shops, three churches, a narrow, magical cinema and a small hospital on the second floor.
Used to be the floor room of a hotel.
But no bookstore.
The nearest one is more than two hours away in Asheville.
The most spectacular buildings in town are Baptist Church, Methodist Church and Carnegie Library.
You can\'t say that the library is beautiful, but it is tall and straight on the street. all the planes and angles are beautiful and lack of decoration.
The main feature of the library is the entrance --
The steep, desirable steps narrowed as they climbed up a porch and sheltered the heavy wooden double doors. Inside, a half-
There are a dozen more steps, wooden, squeaky, that send you to a large, quiet room with high windows, dark wood floors and bookshelves lined on four walls
The kids section starts on the left, and over the years, as I grew up in that town, I read around the shelves.
Many books may have been there since the first world war.
When I was a teenager, I read an old etiquette book, which included a gentleman\'s guidance on how to use a handkerchief in public.
A few years later, I read Ian Fleming and Booth tarkinton as if they were contemporaries.
Somewhere along the way, I read the greatest book ever, around the world by bike.
Eventually, at the age of 16, I kept going back to the right side of the entrance staircase where I found things like \"The decline of the Roman Empire\" and \"Kon-Tiki.
\"But what I remember most was how I climbed up the steps to this huge silent room, which made it a consequence of reading a book and making reading a moral choice.
The structure itself looks forward to you. —
Charles Fraser, \"Varina\", I created art for more than 100 books for children and adults.
When I moved from Boston to Crotonon-Hudson, N. Y.
In 1970, with my family, I drew only 16 paintings.
All my projects require a lot of research.
I saved a picture file cut from magazines and newspapers, but when I needed some specific references, I jumped up to the train at the Central Station, walk to the New York Public Library on 42 th Street and Fifth Avenue.
It\'s amazing to browse through its huge collection of pictures, but I found another great source at my fingertips.
The Croton Free Library is located in a quiet corner of town, adjacent to the cemetery buried by playwright and writer Lorraine Hansberry, just 10 minutes from my home.
In the next 48 years, this small library will play a role in almost all of my projects and become one of the cornerstones of my creative process.
The librarian helped me complete the always urgent research request, endured the late return, and combed the bookshelves of the books I had borrowed, and now I can continue with only a vague description: \"It\'s big, the cover is blue, maybe green.
You know, the one about Africa
American folklore
The Croton Free Library has shaped the content of my work.
It is not just a research bank; it’s a muse.
When the wheels on my creative engine refuse to turn, I will leave my studio and drive to my library for regeneration and inspiration.
When I walked into the door, someone would always say hello to me: \"Hey, Jerry.
What are you doing now? ”—
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