It’s a slow summer on Sea Street. Not many cottage renters, boaters, or even Tenants Harbor regulars are walking by, which means only that Roseledge Books sales are few and precious and that I miss you all. Today is warm, and cloudy now, and, good grief, the road is wet. I didn’t even hear the raindrops on my uninsulated roof.
The Jackson Memorial Library (JML), our local public library, is in the throes of reducing size and cost of a much wanted new building that began being planned when economic times were better. You may remember a post from last fall about Jamie Wyeth’s exterior rendering of a possible larger building. I liked it a lot for three reasons: a) it was ordinary, but “of Maine” (classic farmhouse), b) it was almost articulated (buildable in parts), and c) it included something special (a sort of “grounded” widow’s walk with a half-circle of windows and metal roof). I hope that whatever reduced proposal is put forward still has these aspects.
The annual library meeting will be held this Thursday and people attending will be asked what about their favorite library made it their favorite (or somanswer, browsing.
Sea Street is almost empty. Where are you?
Browsing allows the user to go beyond the alreething like that). I would ask it a little differently. What about any library visit is most important to you? And I would ady known — and perhaps already reserved — into the realm of the possible additional items or ideas. An LL Bean spokesperson mentioned (last summer on public radio) that with the advent of non-Maine bricks and mortar stores, the Company hoped to have 1/3 of their business come from the catalog, 1/3 from the Internet, and 1/3 from the retail outlets because people like to inspect items closely before they buy. The same is true of library users who search the (maybe online) catalog, the Internet (think Amazon.com), and the in-library bookshelves. As the library square footage is reduced, I argue for browse-ability to be retained because I think it is a or the reason we most need library buildings.
A friend wants for the library to continue to have wireless access which made it possible for her to be here for as long as she was earlier this summer and which makes it easier for her to return. A friend of a friend mentioned comfort, like Barnes and Noble, but I would want to know what about B&N was comforting, e.g. noise, furniture, windows, coffee, particular books nearby. A classic article in The Atlantic (I think) about 20 years ago noted that libraries had turned into noisy recreation centers for kids and that the author preferred B&N because the salespeople could ask the kids — and their parents, if necessary — to leave, and librarians either could or did not.
I can relate to that both because I am a big advocate for “adults first” in libraries and because I built a library in the ’60’s before I knew that. (Yes, I am a librarian.) We based the floor plan on noise, half-staff, and expandability. The kids were in front, near the checkout desk and the adults were in back, behind the shelves, so noisiness — and nosiness, too — were somewhat adjustable. Glass walls separated the staff in the workroom or at the front desk from the reference area, so we could always see and be seen. And the basement was mostly left unfinished. As I think about it, we were shrewd, and a little far-sighted, she said modestly. Adults came, sometimes just to drop off the kids, and I considered it my job to find a way to make them want to come in or come back and find something for themselves, Adults vote, donate, and set an example for kids. It’s the trifecta of reasons to draw adults, and I think browsing is a great big way of doing that.
Browsing is a big Roseledge Books draw, too, that and arguing about why I do or do not have a book. “I hated that book about the house in Maine with squirrels running through it and the people who went swimming in the ocean with no clothes on.” Pause while I puzzled it out. “Do you mean Frankie’s Place? (Nod.) It’s one of my favorites! I loved…”
Ah, the joy. And the webcam is probably on the still or again wet Sea Street.