Here’s to Book Lovers and their Libraries

It is a love affair that began 25 years ago—and has been going strong ever since. It’s one laden with passion, romance, definitely a little mystery, a whole lot of cooking and then sprinkling in some science-fiction. One where I am held accountable for my actions, sometimes with a fine attached, and yet I’m always welcomed back in with open arms—an exercise in unconditional love. This relationship spanned cities, accompanying me from my hometown to Austin and then Houston, certifying itself as a steady, reliable hub of curiosity and exploration. Yes, what I’m speaking to is my deep affection for the public library, the space that bestowed upon me a love of books.

My first brush with literary wonder took root in Dallas, where I remember walking into the Preston Royal branch and feeling both elated and overwhelmed at the sheer volume of books, movies and CDs in front of me. Yes, I had gone in there to extend my interest in the Nancy Drew series but now? Worlds laid out before me; how could I possibly confine myself to just one? Over the years, I oscillated between my school’s library and the public library, checking out Tolkein, Blume, Lewis, Sachar, and Silverstein in equal measure. The stacks of books I would check out were cartoonishly large, looming high above my slight elementary frame as I tottered up to the check-out counter. Inevitably, I would run late on a few and have to spend my allowance to cover the days (or weeks) that I spent hoarding away these collections.

Later, when I moved to Austin for college, I found myself eager to stretch into my newfound adulthood but was unsure of myself and uncomfortable in these unfamiliar surroundings. I turned to the library for cookbooks, so I could figure out how to feed myself anything other than ramen noodles and take-out, and it allowed me to host new friends for a meal and crack open the potential for friendships. I reopened classical favorites that sparked nostalgia and sought out new memoirs that helped nestle me into the collective experience of growing despite feeling fearful. I staked out the Twin Oaks branch, regularly stopped into the Downtown location before it was retired and giddily remember when the new Central branch opened, which has become a jewel in the increasingly garish-and-jarring Austin skyline.

Houston called us in 2017 and after relocating, one of my first tasks in my new city was to secure my library card. I would venture to the Alice Young branch on the weekend and spent many lunch hours during a stint at a lonely corporate job wandering through the stacks at the Downtown branch. In my lunchtime library visits, I found an excuse to leave my desk and its dull set of obligations to instead dream about a world that felt purpose-driven. The Downtown Houston library branch also served as a way for me to connect to the neighborhood, giving me a chance to catch the Fashion Fusion exhibit from HCC students and leading me to the adjacent farmer’s market at City Hall on Wednesdays.

Throughout 2020, the library became a new lifeline for not only myself but for much of the city. Back in 2015, a Pew Research study found that lower-income, Black and Hispanic Americans were far more likely to say that “closing their local public library would have a major impact on them or their family” than other groups and in that same study, it was concluded that nearly half of those who use the library for internet access do so to research health-related issues. In a year wracked by health-related issues, the temporary loss of library access reverberated across Houston neighborhoods—and the reopening of key branches was met with celebration. Not only could minds wander freely while we were stuck at home, but basic internet-reliant services could resume for residents.

We recently moved back to Austin, and it comes as no surprise that after we settled in, I marched over to the Menchaca Road branch to reinstate my account. The librarian on staff kindly reminded me that I was delinquent in status (look, those fines sneak up!) but just as quickly asked, “Where have you been? We missed you.” I answered back earnestly, “I’ve missed you, too.”

Reading does not simply make us well read. It makes us whole. Ardent library supporter Toni Morrison stated, “Access to knowledge is the superb, the supreme act of truly great civilizations. Of all the institutions that purport to do this, free libraries stand virtually alone in accomplishing this.” Conversely, the poet John Ciardi said, “The public library is the most dangerous place in town.” To be a library card holder is to adopt a certain attitude of advocacy—to assert that everyone has a right to be curious and have that imagination satiated. And to feel that loss acutely when the capacity to intellectually explore suddenly disappears. So here’s to the book lovers—today and always—and to the libraries that keep our hearts full.