There is something very daunting when you enter a library; we are absorbed by the immediate sense of quiet, the cerebral, and an appreciation of timelessness. For those who are readers, writers, and book lovers, it is analogous to a child being let loose in a toy store…where one may choose not one but often as many as 20 items for free. The only caveat is that you must return them. But alas, that seems quite fair.
The library for me is a wonderland; however it is a place that I worry about. Once frequented, many are passed up, some say out-dated…and for others an inconvenient way to find a book. Nevertheless, those of you who have not visited one in awhile drop by and window shop…meander around the shelves … it is like a stroll along the beach where footsteps were forever left behind, only here there are books.
In today’s blog I invite you to revisit the library with the esteemed thinker: Ray Bradbury, (1920-2012) an American writer especially renowned for his work in the genre of science fiction. Bradbury’s career as an author started when he was a child and spanned for over 70 years. His reputation was clenched with his collection of books in 1950 titled under The Martian Chronicles.
Now, let us steal a moment for one of our iconic writers of the 20th century; here are his words from the biography Becoming Ray Bradbury (2011)… enjoy his unique analogy …
“The library was the great watering place where animals, large and small, came from the night to drink and smile at each other across the green-glass-shadowed glades between the book-mountains. So here you were gamboling on spring nights like lambs, lolling like warm trout in winy springs on summer nights, racing the curled mice-leaves on autumn nights, always to the same Monday place, the same Monday building. You ran, you dawdled, you flew, but you got there. And there was always that special moment when, at the big doors, you paused before you opened them out and went in among all those lives, in among all those whispers of old voices so high an so quiet it would take a dog, trotting between the stacks, to hear them. And trot you did.”