The other day, I walked the two blocks down the street to a very large retirement center. As neighbors, I really like these people—they never shoot off fireworks, never hold loud parties, and always mow their lawn regularly. Other than a few residents whose driving skills have deteriorated in the six decades since they were first licensed, these people make great neighbors.
The retirement home features a library for residents and I was taking them a bag of novels that I no longer needed. All of the books were new hardbacks, in excellent condition, and written by prominent authors that most readers would instantly recognize. Since the retirement center also serves as my neighborhood’s polling center, I knew the library to be fairly large, but with less than full shelves and with ample room to expand.
When I walked into the library, the librarian was seated at her desk reading a copy of Death of an Expert Witness by P. D. James. I thought that was a good omen, for if she liked that mystery, she’d likely approve of several of the books in my bag.
“Hello,” I said. “Does your library accept donations?”
Carefully putting a bookmark in her book and placing the book on the desk in front of her before answering me, the librarian said, “Yes, but only if they have published in the last four years. We don’t have the room to handle books older than that.”
“Really? The book you are reading is almost 50 years old and the author has been dead for eight years.” Frankly, I was a little irritated. The retail price of the books I was bringing was a couple of hundred dollars, and the librarian was acting like I was imposing on her.
“We don’t have the room for old books,” she repeated. “What do you have there?”
As I turned to leave, I answered, “Oh, you wouldn’t like them…they’re old. It’s a Shakespeare First Folio and a Gutenberg Bible.”
A week later, I donated the books to a post library on a nearby military base where the books were accepted without question. The fact that I just dropped them through a book return slot on their door might have something to do with their not commenting.
Naturally, I have been thinking of libraries all week. I hope to share a little of that obsession with you.
Most librarians probably disagree with me, but I’ve always thought there are several absolute necessities for a great library. It should be abundantly stuffed with overflowing bookshelves, with plenty of stuffed chairs and with wooden tables for patrons. And, if it is to be a truly great library, there should be at least one cat. A good corner alcove with windows and leather reading chairs would be nice, but I would trade that for a single, totally necessary cat. Why is it that so many good bookstores and so few libraries have cats?
The greatest library historically was the Great Library at Alexandria, founded by Alexander the Great, though not finished in his lifetime. Alexander was tutored by Aristotle, who instilled in the young general a great love of books (these were then growing increasingly popular owing to the recent invention of papyrus. Books, in the form of papyrus scrolls, were readily available to most educated Greeks, prompting the start of libraries. When Alexander decided to transplant Greek culture to Egypt, his plan to build a great city included plans for the greatest library of the ancient world.
We know that the library remained a center of learning for centuries, with some salaried scholars provided with room and board to stay, study, and write. Among these ‘tenured’ scholars were Euclid, Strabo, and Archimedes. The first professional librarians kept the library running and expanding, however, the library eventually came to a tragic end. While most of the facts surrounding the library’s demise are simply lost, there are countless legends and wild stories about the library’s end. One of the wilder stories recounts how the Romans burned the scrolls to heat their baths.
It’s much more likely that some of the scrolls were actually taken to Rome after a fire destroyed the largest Roman library. Some warehouses that may have stored library property were lost to fire that engulfed the harbor at Alexandria during fighting while Julius Caesar captured the city. The most likely reason for the destruction of the library however, was simple neglect. While papyrus was far superior to the clay tablets used before its invention, papyrus was highly vulnerable to dampness and had to periodically be replaced with new papyrus. The collection of irreplaceable books at Great Library of Alexandria most likely just rotted away from neglect, only to be resurrected by the most unlikeliest hero.
Centuries passed and then, in 1974, just months before his resignation, President Richard Nixon toured the Middle East, flying into Cairo and taking the train to Alexandria. When the president innocently asked to be shown the site of the former library, his hosts were embarrassed: Even the site of the greatest library had been lost to history.
A few city leaders saw this as an opportunity. Even since the presidency of Nasser, whose anti-colonialism had resulted in the city of Alexandria being officially slighted, local politicians had looked for a way to return the city to a position of world prominence. Rebuilding the long-lost library looked like a perfect opportunity. And who would not want to donate to rebuilding the lost great library?
I checked: Unfortunately, the library’s only cat is a statue of Bastet in one of the four attached museums.
Definitely needs a cat. Mice do love to nibble paper
ReplyDelete