US public libraries – beauful icons of a beer civic era
Moira Donegan |The Guardian | December 2022
If you proposed it now, at any town council or city hall meeng, you would be laughed from the room.
The concept is almost unthinkably indulgent, in our austere mes: an instuon, open for free to anyone,
that sells no products, makes no money, is funded from public coers, and is dedicated solely to the
public interest, broadly dened. And it’s for books.
If the public library did not already exist as a pillar of local civic engagement in American towns and cies,
there’s no way we would be able to create it. It seems like a relic of a bygone era of public opmism, a
me when governments worked to value and edify their people, rather than punish and extract from
them. In America, a country that can oen be cruel to its cizens, the public library is a surprising
kindness. It is an instuon that oers grace and sanctuary, and a vision of what our country might one
day be.
To the eyes of a modern American, it can be a strange, even disorienng vision. For one thing, public
libraries are unusually beauful places, the kind of buildings that make you feel underdressed. In many
American cies, the public library ranks among the most ornate and stately xtures of downtown.
Over the past year, I began working in the public library for the first time in my freelance career. No
matter how often I went, every time I mounted the steps to the entrance, I was always a little nervous.
The building felt beyond my station, as if I was about to get caught doing something I shouldn’t. As I
settled into my seat at a broad hardwood table and opened my laptop beneath the chandeliers, I always
half expected a suited security guard to arrive and ask me politely but firmly to leave. But what is so
precious and stupefying about the public library is that no one ever does. I have a right to be there – not
because of any institutional affiliation or job or paid subscription, but because I’m a New Yorker, a
regular person, in a city that has decided to honor its people with this place.
There are a lot of indignities to American city life, and maybe there are especially indignities to life in
New York. There is the indignity of the crowded and dysfunctional subway system. There is the indignity
of the city’s dirtiness. There is the indignity of the price of rent. But the public library offers an almost
otherworldly dignity, a sense of purpose and seriousness that falls over you when you enter. The silence
of the reading rooms begins to feel like the reverent hush of a temple.
The majesty of library buildings is matched only by the nobility of their purpose. The public library does
not make anyone money. It exists to grant access to information, to facilitate curiosity, education, and
inquiry for their own sake.
And it is available, crucially, to everyone. It costs nothing to enter, nothing to borrow. All the knowledge
and artistry of its collection is available to the public at will, and it is a privilege made available, without
prejudice, to rich and poor alike. The optimism and respect for the people that is represented in the
public library is worth taking into the future with us. The public library makes a proposition that’s still
radical: that learning, knowledge and curiosity are for everyone, and that the annals of history,
literature, science and art might not be just an indulgence of the privileged, but an entitlement of
citizenship.