The very best books are often the hardest to talk about. 96 of my GR friends reviewed The Library Book. There are 8000+ ratings and over 2000 reviews, with only 3% under 3 stars. Susan Orlean's latest, an ode to the love of libraries, has been favorably reviewed by the best, including Ron Charles for The Washington Post, The New York Times, and Chris Woodyard for USA Today. Perhaps not as gushy were the industry reviews. Still, all in all, positive commentary. So what can I add to the love to encourage you to read The Library Book? Is my recommendation enough?
The naysayers had many complaints, the worst of which in my opinion was that if you thought libraries were boring, this proves it.
The strongest appeal factors for me
Library employee (retired), supporter and card carrying bibliophile.
True Crime enthusiast.
Historical context to broaden my knowledge.
Encourage me to conduct my own research, a curiosity to know more.
Highlightable passages to savor and contemplate.
Narrative Non-fiction fan.
If any of the above make your checklist, then I'd say jump right in.
Let me leave you with just one paragraph, one that speaks to me as I pursue a new found interest in my ancestors and descendants, and think about my loved ones who have left me behind to face my own mortality.
Originally appeared as Growing Up In The Library – The New Yorker, October 5, 2018 and paraphrased for this book.
“The idea of being forgotten is terrifying. I fear not just that I, personally, will be forgotten but that we are all doomed to being forgotten—that the sum of life is ultimately nothing; that we experience joy and disappointment and aches and delights and loss, make our little mark on the world, and then we vanish, and the mark is erased, and it is as if we never existed. If you gaze into that bleakness even for a moment, the sum of life becomes null and void, because if nothing lasts nothing matters. It means that everything we experience unfolds without a pattern, and life is just a wild, random, baffling occurrence, a scattering of notes with no melody. But if something you learn or observe or imagine can be set down and saved, and if you can see your life reflected in previous lives, and can imagine it reflected in subsequent ones, you can begin to discover order and harmony. You know that you are a part of a larger story that has shape and purpose—a tangible, familiar past and a constantly refreshed future. We are all whispering in a tin can on a string, but we are heard, so we whisper the message into the next tin can and the next string. Writing a book, just like building a library, is an act of sheer defiance. It is a declaration that you believe in the persistence of memory.”