Thank God for libraries ....

Nearly a week ago, as the $50 fill up and $4 eggs tighten the beltstrap on my already meager savings account, to say nothing of my addiction to Starbucks non-fat lattes and the general penury that most grad students enjoy, I came to the conclusion that I am going to have to be more thrifty this summer. As the spirit of responsibility struck me one afternoon as I sat reading in my apartment, I brought up the transaction history on my debit card. Both the problem and the solution to my finance situation were evident immediately. My bank statement read something like this:
6/1 - CHK CARD PURCH. - GENAURDIS (a grocery store)
6/3 - CHK CARD PURCH. - BORDERSBOOKS&G
6/6 - ATM WITHDRWL
6/12 - CHK CARD PURCH. - BORDERSBOOKS&G
6/13 - CHK CARD PURCH. - BARNES&NOBLE.COM
6/13 - CHK CARD PURCH. - AMAZON.COM
Well, you get the idea ...


Now, that pesky little webpage forced me to acknowledge that I have a serious weakness for the buying of books. It could be worse, I suppose. I could buy the books and never read them. Or buy ones only with certain color spines so as to match my apartment decor perfectly. Or - my personal favourite - I could be buying only cds, trashy magazines and yoga mats at these alleged "book stores". But no, I fear that I have merely been buying and reading large numbers of books (and, I will admit, quite a few pieces of awesome Papyrus stationary).

Nevertheless, this poses a serious strain on my finances. The situation has worsened the past couple of weeks, too, because I actually have a break from classes. Months' accumulated guilt has now forced me out into the world to buy all the books I have been meaning to make time for since the semester began. I could borrow these books, it is true, and give either my school or local library a purpose of existence. But there is something so utterly satisfying about buying a book you know you will enjoy, that it makes up a hefty percentage of the actual enjoyment. Also, I very much like having the ability to lend beloved books to friends, despite the danger of never seeing the darlings again. In fact, sometimes lending a book to a disorganized and forgetful friend is an excellent way to pare down one's own collection. Recommending a book, growing excited as you remember and tell of your favourite lines or scenes or characters, realizing that there's a chance your friend will relish those parts as much as you did, and then actually being able to hand over that book is part of the reason I read (and have friends) in the first place. Glancing over to see the book sit on my bookshelf day in and day out, like an omnipresent kind of friend who's always there when I need him is very comforting as well. And when you borrow a book, the sad reality is that you are eventually going to have to give it back, leaving a depressing gap in the symmetry of the bookcase.

Necessity, however, has propelled me back to borrowing. I've calculated that I will spend 1/3 as much money in the month of July simply by curtailing my book-buying-habit. And so I trudged back into my local library yesterday, a place I have not seen for a couple months at least. I really don't know why, either. I mean, I should really visit the place sporadically anyway, just to visit with the local characters, who are easily as entertaining as those in nutty nearby coffee shops.

Nestled in a quiet Jewish neighborhood, my library seems to attract the oddest and dissimilar people into its musty walls. Tiny, frail older couples, the Yarmulke-ed husband leaning on his cane, move slowly to the philosophy section while a sullen teenager, his hip hop blaring out of his iPod headphones, stands by the new dvd releases. A boisterous woman with enormous plastic-framed glasses, jingling under the weight of her many necklaces, loudly asks the woman in circulation about a recent mystery novel. Nearby, another librarian talks hurriedly into an ancient rotary phone to the person on the other end, who one can assume to either be a veterinarian or a cat-sitter, based on the content of the conversation. My favourite, though, is the older gentleman who comes in daily, I believe, and sits on one of the sofas, his panama hat balanced on one knee and a neat necktie under his vest, the picture of refinement as he quietly reads his book. In amongst the chaos and general disorder of this decidedly un-silent library, he creates for himself a cozy little haven of peace and good books. He seems very erudite, a retired professor or amateur academic perhaps, and I have see him there often over the past year. I secretly believe that he enjoys the chaos, sitting there just letting it wash over him.

Not nearly as disappointed as I thought I would be, I walked out of the library that day with three new novels, a book on intuition, and a big book on foreign policy that I am going to study for my exam. The latter, at least, was quite the find , since it is now out-of-print, and all the copies on Amazon or the used bookstores, when I could find them, looked very shabby indeed. So it seems that libraries do have some very pointed and redeeming qualities. And I know my bank account is pleased ...