Ruining my Library

A library is not a place to store books. That might be one of the functions it is called upon to perform, but that is not what a library is in the same way that I'm not a cook, but I can still put together a pretty good meal when I choose to (i.e. when I'm hungry). But my identity is not "cook." And a library's identity is not "place where books are when they are not being read."

A library is an open door. When you walk in, all you can see is possibility.

A library is a maze with no wrong turns.

A library is a skeleton key.

A library is a home for ideas and for people. If you are smart enough to go to one, it will invite you in with open arms.

A library is the first stop on the road to knowledge.

More than anything else, a library is the kind stranger to whom I entrust my mind, my heart and my sense of self. By the time I'm ready to take it all back, I am a better person and the library has become my friend.

The Elmer J. Bobst Building at NYU, which is referred to by the great and glorious term library, is not my friend. It stands imposingly high, like a tall and distinguished gentleman in white tie and top hat who has just realized that he is hopelessly overdressed for the occasion, and glares down at you as you enter quietly into its domain in your simple yet elegant suit. Its features are angular and cold; grey eyes watching amid the stark black and white of evening dress. Those are the only three colors to be found in Bobst itself; all the hues in between are brought in by the books and those trying to read them. There are nine floors in total and, when you walk in and gaze up at the dizzying heights afforded by the floor to rooftop view in the atrium, you can see each separate story, the staircases connecting them and the pinstripe black bars in front of the stairs. The books are all hidden behind this prison-like edifice and woe-betide the poor student who has to actually venture inside to find a book.

University libraries are, much to my disappointment, rarely like public libraries. I have very little faith in any institution that requires you to know exactly what you are looking for before you find it. Public libraries are ideal for browsing. University libraries require a bit more effort but, with the help of proper signage, decent layout and the occasional lounge with armchairs, it is possible to go in and, while looking for one book, come out with another four that you did not even know you wanted to read until you saw them on the shelves.

Bobst requires an exact call number and a very detailed map of the building before you even have a chance of finding the book you were looking for, much less anything else. And if you get lost, heaven help you because the signs in the stacks most certainly will not. And the worst part of all is that there is nothing of interest to look at on the way. When I first got lost in Bobst, I was a bit perplexed, but not unduly annoyed. After all, it would just give me a chance to browse around and see if I could find an interesting collection of works along the way. I could not. It is quite possible that I walked by any number of them as they shrank away from the garish fluorescent lights and the warehouse style "decor," for lack of a better term. After turning around twice, ending up in one restricted area and generally tripping over my own feet, I finally found the book I was looking for in its hiding place about two feet above my head.

A library is a place that has the occasional step stool so that books on the upper shelves are not entirely neglected.

I finally coaxed the recalcitrant creature down with the help of Leon Edel's biography of Henry James, which extended my reach by six inches and allowed me to hit at the book I wanted until it gave in and fell over. I didn't like treating a book that way - it wasn't its fault.

Architects of the world, if anyone ever calls on you to design a library, please try and remember that a library is a wonderful little place where readers and books can unite to become something greater than either could possibly be on their own. It should be warm and friendly, like the embrace of a loved one. It should, in short, look absolutely nothing like Bobst.