Borrowing time
Much more than simply the books they hold, libraries are places where ideas can be forged and friendships formed, believes Janet Skeslien Charles, all done under the watchful care of their librarians
Land locked by wheat fields, I grew up in a small town near the Canadian border. Each week, my mother took my grandmother, who’d never learned to drive, to the grocery store and the library. From these treks, I understood that books were as nourishing as food, and that the library was a window to the world. Thursdays meant Oreo cookies, a hug from the librarian, and new books to read.
In Shelby, the only hints of the outside world came from my grandmother’s jigsaw puzzles with their dreamy photos of French chateaux, and my neighbour, a war bride from Normandy. When Madame Maynard spoke English with her lilting accent, she made the language sound so much better. I loved hearing about France, loved hearing French words. I wanted to sound like her. I wanted to be like her. She was incredibly brave to leave her friends, her family, and even her language behind. Fresh out of university, I applied to work as a teaching assistant in France, and soon began a new life.
As a small-town girl, I had a hard time adjusting to life in Paris. Everything was more expensive, and everyone was in a rush. With my one-year teaching contract, colleagues viewed me as yet another foreigner passing through. To find friends, I volunteered at the American Library in Paris. Its membership, which represents 60 nationalities, was an array of students and retirees, people on a budget and billionaires, French and foreign. Most impressive were the brilliant, dedicated librarians. They tracked down arcane information, offered
“The books were as nourishing as food, and the library was a window to the world”
the exactly right book recommendations, and comforted people who felt homesick.
The Library was the first place in Paris where I felt a sense of belonging.
When I was hired as the programmes manager, a dream came true. I had the privilege of coordinating book clubs; writing the regular newsletter; and organising the weekly Evenings with an Author series, with topics ranging from Italian Renaissance gardens to racism to the Resistance. As I watched audience members connect, I longed to write about people from different backgrounds becoming friends, thanks to books. I jotted down a line for my main character Odile: “I was sceptical about soulmates, but could believe in book mates, two beings bound by a passion for reading.” When colleagues told me the history of the Library, I knew it was a novel and began to write.
The Paris Library tells the true tale of the brave librarians who defied the Nazis in order to hand-deliver books to Jewish readers. Research and a need for quiet took me to two further libraries: the British Library and the archives of the Imperial War Museum, both in London and two institutions that are not only the living memory of the UK, but of the world. What stands out is the friendliness of the librarians and their willingness to help. I’m so grateful to librarians, for all that they do for the people in their community, including their support of writers, and for the care they give the books that we authors spend years writing.
I can’t help but think of the parallels between life now and the situation in The Paris Library.
Today, we’re wearing masks. In the summer of 1939, librarians, like all Parisians, carried gas masks. Today, we’re putting up perspex shields. In 1939, the librarians pasted brown paper on the windows as protection against shattered glass in case of bombing. Then and now, anxiety is in the air because we don’t know what will happen. Then and now, libraries remain a trusted source not just for news but for support.
Each time I return home, Heidi the librarian hugs me, and I’m reassured that some things stay the same. The comforting smell of crisp newspaper pages and musty books. The display case featuring an arrowhead collection that’s been there since the 1970s. But times change. Ten years ago, a prison was built outside of town; the library exhibits inmates’ artwork as a way for them to be a part of the community. Computer stations are full of folks applying for jobs. Libraries have not only adapted to the digital age, but also to people’s needs.
Many offer classes on a wide range of subjects, from creative writing to how to balance a budget. Growing up, not everyone has the same opportunities, but libraries do their best to ensure that patrons have the skills that they need to thrive.
My novel is a love letter to libraries and librarians. It is a reminder that in the digital age, our libraries – our third space, our sanctuary, our source of facts in a fake-news world – are more vital than ever. As libraries close left and right, it is a reminder that we must protect what we have. Reading is for everyone. Access to knowledge is for everyone. Libraries are for everyone.