Ink and Bone (The Great Library, #1)

by Rachel Caine

I say that the greatest good that can be done for mankind is to shatter the doors of the Great Library and make off with its storehouse of knowledge, spread it far and wide, for though the Library’s history is vast and deep, even the greatest invention can turn upon its creators. And so the very institution we thought would bring the most light to the world has instead drowned it in shadows, and claimed that shadow as full sun. And we, poor blind creatures, have believed the lie.

“Don’t play to your strengths,” Jess told her. “Strengthen your weaknesses.”

“Not all knowledge is books. Those out there, they’re history in stone. Men carved them. Men sweated in this sun to put them there, to make their city more beautiful. Who are you to say what’s worthy for men to see today, or tomorrow?” “You’re an irreligious bastard,” Portero said. “I knew you would be.” “I’m as good a Catholic as you,” Jess said. “I just don’t hold with making the world into copies of what I like.”

the long polished tables down the center of the hall were piled with books. Originals. So many. The room had a vividly familiar smell to Jess, a crisp, dusty aroma that woke memories of his fathers’ warehouses. Of old books cradled in his hands or strapped against his chest. The smell of history.

He tried to imagine standing out here under vicious attack, killing the sick, the weak, children. Knowledge is all. The Library’s motto, and this was what it meant in the real world. It meant that nothing—nothing—was more valuable. Not even lives. It seemed like mockery, looking at those desperate faces.