Ink Tea Stone Leaf

This past summer I bought a Little Free Library, nominally as an anniversary present for Ariele. I say “nominally” because she, as a library employee and bona fide Bachelor of Library Science, had long expressed interest in having one; however, the essential function of one of these outdoor boxes is to allow a whole neighborhood of folks to share books among themselves, so to that end this was actually and effectively a present for all the people on our street who like to go walking by our house from time to time, and who also like to read anonymously recommended books.

It does benefit us as well, both in terms of the good will it generates among the people, but in allowing us a release valve for the books we finish, but don’t have a compelling interest in keeping. That is to say, there are books that I’ve had at hand for more than twenty years and would never consider letting out of my sight, but there are also books that I’ve put down after reading, and then thought “that was nice,” and never gave much of a thought to again. My natural tendency to collecting (some might say hoarding, but they’re not very nice) has created for me a private library of at least several hundred volumes spread over nearly every room in the house, which is a fine thing to have and a difficult thing to organize and shelve. The responsibility to keep the Little Free Library outside stocked for the public, however, has created a balancing incentive. I now find myself looking for reasons to part with good books, to keep the experience compelling for every one.

Our library has been fairly popular these last few months, and if I’d been keeping better track (or keeping track at all) I could probably quote some impressive statistics about circulation. Suffice it to say that of all the books I have placed in that box, only one remains, and that’s because I just put it in there yesterday. The books disappear at such a rate that, rather than draw exclusively from my own stock, I have on two occasions visited used book stores for the express purpose of buying copies of classics I already own and releasing them into the wild. The likes of Lewis Carroll, Walt Whitman, and Ursula K. Le Guin are on the move now, thanks to this practice.

It’s fair to say that the community has also stepped up in providing titles to fill the space. However, I have taken it upon myself to make sure that the library always reflects the kind of diversity of reading material that I would like to see, were I merely a customer and not the proprietor of this establishment. The book I placed there yesterday (Lincoln on the Verge, by Ted Widmer) was offered on an emergency basis, as I’d found the box half empty, and the books it contained mostly of the budget paperback novel variety. I have no objections to such books in our limited shared space, but I would not like to see them dominate it; I prefer to offer a selection that includes nonfiction, drama, poetry, and classics for both children and adults.

(Side note: while I’ve been mostly preoccupied this year with reading from the large pile of books in my house that haven’t yet been read, I have been tempted to blast through one or both of the two Stony Man novels that have been sitting there for a few weeks now. They do sound like a hilarious time).

In addition to edifying the community with literature, I also see it as my job to enforce a certain level of quality. While I have not removed a book for being objectionable to my taste or politics, and I sincerely thank the contributors for not severely testing my resolve in this matter, I have removed a handful of proselytizing pamphlets from the likes of Jehova’s Witnesses and other such organizations, directly to the recycling bin. To all such pamphleteers, I would simply like to say that this is not the intended purpose of this library.

As a notorious homebody, I do not know my neighbors very well. I’ll wave or say hello when I’m outside, and I’ve had friendly conversations with some, but for the most part we keep to ourselves in here. My hope is that, whatever they think of us, they see us as positive contributors to local (that is, very local) culture. Perhaps in time we’ll grow to know each other better on that basis; I certainly don’t plan on going anywhere, and as long as that box is standing I’ll keep filling it with books.

An interesting note, and a missed opportunity; the other night, Ariele and were out to see a ballet show at the theater downtown, and as we were picking up our tickets at the Will Call window, the attendant recognized our address and told us she lived on the very same street. We had a nice short chat, and she described the appearance of her house, “the one with blue shutters.” If I’d thought about it, I should have told her we lived in the one with the Little Free Library. That’s called community outreach!