The parable of the Library

The narrator sits down in his armchair, with his grandchildren at his feet, and dusts off a colourful children’s picture story book.

“As I walked through the wilderness of this world, I lighted on a certain place where was a Carpet, and I laid me down in that place to sleep: and as I slept, I dreamed a dream.

I saw a boy, READER, avid with his books, engrossed always in reading. Reader would, day or night, rain or shine, devour his great pile of books. He had a pile next to his bed, and a pile on his dresser. He had a shelf full of books, and books in a bag. There were books in the living room, and some on the piano. There were books on the coffee table. His parents would often bring them from the library, and after a time, times, and a time and a half (which sometimes meant paying a late fee), his parents would return them.

Reader liked the library, because it had many books, but more than the library, he liked the books. Some were hardback, others paperback. Some had dust jackets, others were bent and frayed. The books that he loved the most bore the marks of having had many readers, and having seen many environments. Some had pages missing, some tea stains and others tears. Some highlighting, and others dog-ears.

But above all his books, he had four favourites: Justice, Truth, Value and Beauty.

He had read these cover to cover many times, and his parents used to read them to him when he was yet very small.

His mother often said, ‘Reader, learn this one by heart. Then in all your days, whether you go far or stay near, whether you build great wonders or seek learning, whether you love or lose, you will not wander.’

His father often said, ‘Reader, lay up knowledge in your heart. Things fall apart when your head is empty but your mouth is open.’

As happens in most societies, year by year, their taste in architecture slowly changed. On Reader’s street, there was a couple called NOVELTY and VAPOUR, and they were the first to renovate their house. The old style, with arches and pillars, symmetry and windows, was bulldozed. In its place they gleefully built a brave new structure, a feat of modern engineering, an artistic masterpiece. Reader’s younger sister, OBSERVANT, would often walk up to him and say such peculiar things as, ‘Reader, have you noticed that their house is now on a slight angle?’ and ‘Oh, did you see that they always leave their windows open? They must’ve forgotten to build a chimney.’

After a decade, the whole town looked different. Now, the average resident of his town would not even deign to look at a building of the old style, so deeply had the new fashion taken over. ‘It is the current year’, some said, and others ‘those sharp arches and straight and narrow paths just do not belong here anymore’. It was on a regular Saturday afternoon that Reader noticed something, with a frown. A few skittish individuals were surreptitiously glancing to and fro, as if to see if they were being watched, before darting into the Library, and not a minute later darting out again.

Reader approached them, asking, ‘What’s the matter?’

INSECURE turned to him, blushing. ‘Oh, no, I didn’t go in there! No, you see, I, well it’s very simple, see, I left my phone in there, because I listen to music, I don’t read books. Especially not from the Libr- I mean, the, that building over there.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with going to the Library,’ Reader replied, and turned to Insecure’s friend, REBELLIOUS. ‘Why do you have fixed on your face a snarl whenever you look at the Library?’

‘Why do you care? So what. Mum works there, or whatever. I just think it’s lame’, grunted Rebellious. ‘You know, it needs a renovation, like the rest of town.’

Reader cocked his head. ‘I mean, it doesn’t look that bad, does it? I always loved how even and strong it looked. Almost like a little castle, but for books.’

‘So what, you hate my house?’ Insecure flared up. ‘You can’t just say things like that.’

‘Your house?’ said Reader, confused. ‘I was talking about the Library.’

‘You’re such a square. I think I’ll give ‘em a reason to spruce up those ugly windows,’ said Rebellious, and without a second’s thought, he hurled a small rock at one of the side windows. It left an ugly crack in the window, and the sound of glass falling to the floors was jarring to all in earshot. Reader felt that wasn’t right, but he said nothing, and kept his eyes down.

A day or so later, Reader was with his sister, Observant, as they moseyed around the comic book store, idly flicking through issues and engaging in smalltalk.

‘Brother, look! All your friends are crowding around that poster over there,’ declared Observant. Reader looked up, and what she had said was true. CRITICAL, CONTRARIAN and CONSIDERATE were engaged in a rather animated discourse.

‘Friends, what is the news? Is it a new issue of Battleship Apollyon?’

‘Reader!’ exclaimed Critical, ‘Surely you can talk some sense into these two, they are making up mad tales about the Library-’

‘-about the hypothesis of a Library existing, Critical, you can’t beg the question, you should know that.’ Contrarian looked rather pleased with his interruption.

‘You’re being completely unreasonable, Contrarian, see, let us simply discuss the facts. There is a building on the corner of Foundational Street and Values Lane, and it is full of books. We have both been there once or twice for research purposes, and it is called the Library. In fact, I could probably even dig up a Library card, which would be further empirical evidence of the Library’s existence. To deny this is an affront to common sense and all reason!’

‘Wrong! The idea of a ‘Library’ was made up by the poor people who built this town, because they were all too poor to buy proper books, by which I obviously mean comic books, which are far superior, they’re much more exciting and fantastical. So, they came up with a social contract, an idea that everyone could propagate, that let them share their books around, and over time people built routines around that practise, and so we made up the ‘Library’ to prop that up.

‘Considerate, what do you think?’ asked Observant. All the boys were surprised that Reader’s sister had inserted herself into the conversation.

‘Well, I think we would do well to hear the opinions of a broader group of people, so that we can weigh them all, before we decide once and for all,’ answered Considerate.

‘Oh look!’ said Observant, gaining confidence and pointing at another notice on the same noticeboard, ‘There’s going to be a council meeting tomorrow night, where they’re going to decide once and for all what to do with the buildings that haven’t been renovated to the new style. Maybe they’ll mention the Library.’

‘The hypotheti-’

‘Shut up, Contrarian,’ said Critical before Contrarian had time to finish.

The following evening, as the sun began her descent over the horizon, many of the citizens of the town filed into the town hall. The first couple of people tripped on the way in, because the daring new trapezoid tiles didn’t tesselate perfectly, so there were sections with missing tile, or where tiles were jutting out like tectonic plates colliding with one another. Those behind them paid attention to the tiles, but were not expecting how low the door was, and a couple bumped their heads on the way in. After much jostling, some commotion, and varying degrees of discomfort, most of the town found themselves crammed into the revolutionary new town hall, with its exciting and progressive architecture. Some of them even whispered to one another, saying, ‘how wonderful these benches are!’ and ‘look how well the light comes through those windows’ and even ‘I’ve never seen such structural integrity.’

However, once again, Observant said such intriguing things to her brother and his friends as ‘Some of them are not even sitting on benches at all, since those new benches have only one chair-leg each, and are all collapsed!’ and even ‘Look at old miss COMPLIANT, she is leaning on the wall to get a better view, and I think I see the very support beams straining to support her!’

‘Order, order!’ barked the mayor. ‘Council is in session. The first order of business is what to do about the traffic collisions we are seeing at the intersection of Mariner Place and Coastal Road.’

‘Well if those sports cars didn’t tear down the road above the speed limit there wouldn’t be any accidents!’ cried one citizen.

‘Oh that’s rich! It’s all the boats’ fault. There should only be cars on the road,’ shouted another.

‘What are you talking about, the speed limit was removed two weeks ago, it was impeding certain motorists from driving their truth! If we are going to get anywhere as a town, we must be allowed to live our truth.’

‘I know what’s wrong with you people,’ said the Harbourmaster. ‘You’re just not prepared for boats to be accepted in the car community, even though they’re both equal vehicles. I propose we enforce a quota, 50/50 cars to boats on the road. Fair is fair, and that’s that!’

‘Fair is fair, and that’s that!’ shouted a good number of the citizens, savouring the obviousness of it, whether or not they were listening, or even owned a boat or a car.

The councilmen looked at one another, shrugged, and wrote the decision down in the minutes.

‘Ok, now onto the next order of business, the Library.’ At the mention of it, an uncomfortable hush fell on the room. Men and women fidgeted around, as if their seats had grown excessively uncomfortable, or perhaps because they were struggling to ignore the discomfort they had all been sharing thus far.

‘Well,’ continued the mayor, ‘I have received many complaints about it being an eyesore. Many are calling for a renovation of the Library, and potentially we could do a fundraiser to pay for it, if the owners are unwilling.’

‘What’s this bollocks he’s talking?’ squeaked a lean old man. ‘There’s no Library in this town, and I knows it, and I won’t be telling no tales about no made up book-place!’

‘Yes, it’s true, the Library does not exist!’ It was Contrarian again, piling on after the old man’s declaration. ‘I propose that we build a skatepark, or perhaps a second comic book store, where certain daft people claim there is a Library.’

ASHAMED spoke up from one of the back rows. ‘You people, you are the reason that these book-readers and their Library have existed this long—and yes, the Library does exist—but it shouldn’t! I propose we do the sensible thing, and bulldoze it. That building makes us all feel sodden and uncomfortable when we walk past it!’ As Ashamed reached his crescendo, he went red, realising that he’d said more than he meant to. ‘I- I mean, it’s just that the Library might have been useful fifty year ago, when people still didn’t know how to read (at this, some of the older folk bristled), and many drunkards and thieves wandered around these streets making off with whatever tickled their fancy (at this, a rather respectable man with a nice family and nice kids went a little red, and checked to see if anyone was looking at him), but the Library helped those people get on track, with its books and all that. It’s just, it’s just that we don’t need it anymore.’

Many people were nodding, and it looked like there was about to be a consensus, but not all had had their say.

‘Well I’m just appalled,’ squealed a middle-aged woman, ENTITLED. ‘What you have just heard is the ridiculous claim that anything good could come from a building of the old style’. Entitled laid many layers of scorn onto those two words, and cast a demeaning glance around the room. ‘There is a building there, but I simply can’t accept that it could be a useful building until we renovate it, so that it fits into the town. After all, whatever good came from the old style?’

The forcefulness of her tone almost gave the impression she had made a strong argument, but there was a silence protracted just long enough that those gathered realised that they had been born, raised and employed back during the old style. A frown settled over the room.

This continued for hours, and the hall became quite stuffy. A few times they tried to crank open a window for some airflow, but it seemed that the builders had forgotten to add hinges to the windows. As a result, everyone pretended the air was just right.

The frustration in the room was stirring up restlessness under every hat and bonnett. Quivering lips all around the room were like charged clouds, one bump away from lightning. It was Entitled that started it.

‘Renovate! Renovate! We will make the Library great!’ Her chant was like a droning horn, or clashing cymbals. Many joined in. The response was almost immediate.

‘Tear it down, brick from brick! The sight of it has made us sick!’ Not to be outdone, the third party chimed in.

‘Don’t believe the Library lie! It’s all pie up in the sky!’

Every pair of lungs was shouting one of the slogans, and it seemed to Reader that every set of ears had closed as a result. It was a frenzy. A fervour. It was madness. Reader, Observant and Considerate all left. Hours later, when the hackles were not raised, and the volume had settled, the councilmen were finalising the minutes.

‘So, what was the conclusion?’

‘You heard it.’

‘Oh why yes, but, uh, the way you put things is just so succinct.’

‘Well. Yes, well, I believe the decision was to renovate the library to the new style.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘I agree, gentlemen, and don’t forget to add that we also decided to demolish the Library.’

After a pause, the sir with the pen added to his minutes. Renovate the Library to the new style, and demolish the Library.

‘Yes, that is very well said, and there was just one more conclusion to add to our minutes,’ said one of the very generic men.

‘What was that?’

‘Oh, it is rather a small point, but an important one: namely, that the Library doesn’t exist.’

None of the men would look each other straight in the eyes. There was a spread of nonchalant nodding, each man’s head dancing a little jig that said ‘why yes, I understand this completely, it makes sense’, while every man’s eyes looked around the room to see how the others would respond.

‘So, I guess I’ll make the conclusion read like this: Renovate the Library to the new style, demolish the Library, there is no Library in the first place.’

There was a pregnant silence. They all looked at one another.

‘Well, I think that’s settled then!’

‘Yes, settled, I say!’

‘Excellent work, and efficient work too!’

‘And we will put it into action immediately.’

‘Oh, without delay.’

‘Yes, I expect there will be parties and teams and delegations working on it tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow, at the latest!’

‘Yes, at the latest!’

‘And they will complete their task, and all will be well.’

‘I’m sure of it.’

Reader hated the way that people wouldn’t look you straight in the eye anymore. It really made him seethe, but he didn’t know what to do. Would it be such a hassle to just give the old building a touchup? Surely, if that would make things normal again. It’s not like it’s the only Library, anyway, surely other towns have them. Destroying it wouldn’t be that bad.

Observant started to walk around with her head hung low. Her brother didn’t read much anymore. He was constantly on edge, and fixing the ‘library situation’ was all he could talk about. He’d even started to muddy up some of the details. One evening, she cried quietly, because she heard from her window that he was speaking to his friends, and denied that he’d ever really liked the library (if it existed) in the first place, saying that it was more his parents’ thing.

He was rarely around. He mostly hung out with his new friends, Rebellious and Insecure, as well as some of his old friends, Contrarian and Critical. When she walked past his room, she’d see the new books they were giving him. They were little more than comic books, little more than pamphlets, some of them, and their pages were falling out, their spines were ratty and decrepit. Even the pages numbers didn’t follow in a sequence, like numbers did when they had learned them in school. Those boys didn’t even bother holding the books the right way up, half the time, all that mattered was the appearance of reading.

It was around that time that Reader moved out.

Observant and his parents bade him farewell. Afterwards, there were tears and three cups of tea at the dining table.

Reader took a job at a greengrocer on the other side of town, but he didn’t turn up to work much. What’s more, some of his roommates needed money from time to time, and he discovered that they were not prone to paying back their loans. He was unhappy with himself, but he wasn’t prepared to be honest. He had already sold a few of his things to get by, what would be one or two more?

He took one of his favourite novels, a thriller laced with political intrigue surrounding a King and his attempts to unify a war torn nation, and sold it. That was where it began. Then went a biography of a songwriter he used to love, and the book of his songs. In his refusal to look up, he would not see the path he was walking.

However, just as the morning light cannot refuse to shine, and the storm must eventually give way to the rainbow, he was fortunate to notice a piece of paper fall out of his bag one day. It was a Library receipt, and it indicated when four of his books were due to be returned. They were overdue, and by a fair margin. Like a lighthouse beam penetrating ocean fog, the sight of such a peculiar piece of his childhood had him in a trance. Forgetting himself, and the situation he was in, out of sheer force of habit, he hurried to throw those four books into a bag and run down to the Library. He was already in such debt, he could barely afford his own food, let alone a hefty late fee.

He hurried down Foundational Street until it intersected with Values Lane, but the building that stood before him did not remind him of his Library. It was graffitied, and missing a few more windows since others had followed Rebellious’ example. It had a sad but obvious sign that simply read, ‘closing down’. A councilman was present, talking to the owner of the Library, intermittently writing things down on his clipboard.

Reader partly wanted to ask what was going on, but that idea was silenced by the storm inside him that could think only of the overdue books. He was exhausted and almost feverish from his haste. However, as he walked down the path to the door, the councilman intercepted him.

‘Hold up there, young man, what do you think you’re doing? Can’t you see this place is done with business?’

‘I, it’ll be quick, I’m just returning some books.’

‘Oh you are, are you? I imagine you also think that the Library owns those books, eh? Tell me, what volumes do you suppose belong to this here Library?’

‘Sir, these fine books which I have read over the years, namely, Justice, Truth, Value and Beauty.’

A few passersby had stopped at the intrigue of seeing a commotion brewing between the two men in front of the library. It was a peculiar sight. There were forklifts, excavators and demolition equipment strewn around the yard and car park surrounding the library, looking as if no one had touched it in weeks, possibly months. At the same time, there were ladders, scaffolding and worksite fences, surrounded by pallets of timber, brick and rendering. There were buckets of paint, and ‘renovation site, authorised personnel only’ signs. Finally, and most peculiarly of all, there were a few billboards announcing the new building development that was set to take place ‘on this empty lot, where there are no buildings, and never have been any buildings of any sort’, according to the sign.

An old man, STATELY, approached the two of them. ‘Well I say, did I just hear you suggest that Justice, Truth, Value and Beauty belong to the Library? I find that to be plainly ridiculous, and offensive to all people who don’t care for libraries.’

‘Well put, Stately,’ replied the councilman, ‘those books belong to the council and to the state, not to this Library—which is being demolished, and renovated, and certainly does not exist.’

‘Oh deary me, can we drop it with this twiddle-twaddle about there being no Library!’ screeched Entitled, who had just stuck her nose into their discussion, as she was ever fond of doing. ‘But I don’t want to see you enter that building until you admit that those books could not possibly be good, since they came from a building of the old style.’

‘Entitled, can you please lower your voice, you are causing a spectacle. This young man was just about to leave, it would be scandalous to participate in the function of this building, it is passe, démodé, defunct!

‘Well hang on a second there,’ said AFFIRMING, a soft bespectacled man, clad in black with a distinct white collar, holding his nose high up to the sky, ‘I don’t think we need to do away with it entirely. See, the Library has definitely been an agent of oppression and marginalisation to non-book-reading and literature-averse folk in history, but the problem was not the walls or the door, but the vitriol on its shelves. Son, do I see that archaic title, ‘Truth’, in your bookbag?’

‘Why, yes.’

‘Well,’ said little Affirming, now addressing all gathered, ‘that book fails to realise the lived realities of other communities with different experiences and histories. Here is a great work on the same topic, but updated for cultural relevance.’

At that moment, he held above his head a book which on the cover read ‘My Truth, by Me.’ He opened its pages so all could see what teachings it contained. Those both close and far away could all see clearly that it bore no text, just large pictures of hearts and smiley faces. There was a smattering of applause. Emboldening, he began to pontificate.

‘Well, young man, you can do away with those archaic volumes. If you read those, you do not belong in this town.’

Reader was shocked. He counted those around him. It was a fearfully large number. They could do him in for good if he did something to upset them. The councilman, Stately, Entitled and Affirming were all standing between him and the door. The piles of demolition and renovation equipment as well as the billboards for new development added a dash of absurdity to the scene. This time, he did not look down at his feet. He was willing to see, and willing to be sorry. His stride was powerful, he puffed out his chest and pushed through the lines of the simmering mob. He entered the Library, and shut the door behind him. At that moment, all of their noise fell away, and he was greeted by those familiar walls.

‘How can I help you?’, asked APOLOGETIC, who was busy packing books neatly into boxes.

‘I have some overdue books to return. I’m so sorry they’re late, I only just remembered today that I’ve been borrowing them so long.’

‘Oh, well let’s see which books these are, that you’ve had such trouble parting with.’

Reader opened his bag, and pulled out the four books and laid them on the Library counter. Apologetic paused for a moment when she saw them, well loved, well read, well kept.

‘So, look, I don’t have lots of money, but I’m here to pay the late fee,’ said Reader, in earnest.

‘Do you love these books?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then keep them, for they have been read to you since your youth, and they belong to you now as they once belonged to your parents who read them to you, and as they once belonged to this library. And besides, this late fee is one you couldn’t pay in a thousand lifetimes.’

So Reader took his books, and clutched them close to his heart. He left that town, and settled in a far away place, where the libraries were open, where the roads were straight, houses didn’t collapse, and children weren’t ashamed of their parents. He met a young lady at the Library there, and they started a family together. Oh his joy, his deep and profound gratitude, when one day his daughter asked if she could read ‘those big books up there on the shelf; Justice, Truth, Value and Beauty.’ “