When an Old Lady Dies, a Library Burns

That's an old saying I recall from when I was growing up. Maybe it's a Southern aphorism. The library burning down part disturbed me as a kid. Losing our local library to a fire seemed like a cruel, unfair tragedy to me.

I envy those readers who today can revisit the libraries of their youth. The memories must flood back. Good memories, too. Relish it if you can go there. It's a touchstone. Our library moved after I graduated from high school into a spanky new facility.

You know, the new carpet smells, harsh overhead lights, and big oak tables. Don't get me wrong. It's a fine library. But I miss prowling in the old cramped, dim stacks of the quaint one. The musty odor that's unique to printed books stays with me like honeysuckle whiffed on sultry July nights. The old library had a fireplace inside it! I've visited one other library with a fireplace in posh Lake Forest north of Chicago.

I wonder if my reading Westerns (Zane Grey) and mysteries (Ross Macdonald) now is a subconscious try to return to wander through those book stacks. I'm getting in touch with the kid in me. I want to feel again the same visceral response to reading books for the sheer fun of it.

Could it be cynical adulthood robs us of the enjoyment to read? I sure hope not. I'll be returning soon to check out more--you guessed it--Westerns and mysteries from our library.

Ed Lynskey
@edlynskey
author of Lake Charles and Quiet Anchorage