The Future of our Libraries

Anne Fadiman wrote a wonderful little book of essays titled "Ex Libris". The first essay is about the author and her husband deciding, after years of marriage, to "marry" their libraries. How they should organize the library, whose copy of duplicate titles they should keep and so on. As I was reading the essay my mind wandered to my two over flowing bookcases in the living room and to David’s own bookcase in Ohio. One day,sooner than I ever anticipated, David and I might “marry” our libraries.

Now, I frequently stop before buying classics knowing that David may own a copy. Afraid that when we combine our libraries, my copy might be tossed to the donation pile or the weight of the duplicates we own will be too great and we will have to choose. Or I will stop before I purchase a used chick lit novel I really love afraid it may occupy space near one of David’s beloved dead Russians and the books won't get along or they will look uncomfortable next to each other. Another fear is that friends and relatives will glance at our shelves and know which books are mine, which are David’s, and deduce who is smarter and thus a more discriminating reader. An observation, if noted aloud, might push me to indignant tears.

In another essay Fadiman recalls memories about her parent's books and what they represented about her parent's personalities and lives. I stopped and recalled books from my mother's one bookcase(one of the two that I now own) that sat at the bottom of our stairs in our apartment when I was in late elementary school. A book of Gone With the Wind trivia, biographies of Vivien Leigh and Katherine Hepburn, Dinotopia, Green Eggs and Ham, How the Grinch stole Christmas, Diary of a Young Girl, Tales from the Secret Annex, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and other random books (I now own these copies).  David’s house was (is) a house filled floor to ceiling with books organized and alphabetized.  His house held books since the day he was born,longer really, A severe contrast to my family’s single case of randomness acquired late in my childhood. This doesn't mean I was raised without books and literacy. It just means we didn't own many. We never had the space or the money. We were a gypsy or circus family moving frequently.

I wondered if David had memories of his "parent's bookshelves". Then I began to wonder what our future children might think of our books. Will they think David is more intelligent? Boring? Will they wonder why Daddy can never finish a book? Or why he only reads the same subjects? Presidential biographies,US history,Military history,Russian History, Chinese History. Will they see that he has a fascination with Russian works and Richard Nixon? Plus, David keeps most of his books forever. Then they will look at my books. Will they think less of me when they see all the Chick-Lit? Think that I am stupid and shallow with a short attention span? I read them quickly and give them away. Is she ashamed of her Chick-Lit? They will surely wonder why I have picture book adaptions of almost every Shakespeare play and picture books of cats. Will they be shocked by my unhealthy obsession with Bob Dylan? Will they wonder why their mother has a collection of works just about California? Which she is constantly shoving at them afraid they will forget the epic sunshine and smog they never knew. Will they be embarrassed by their weird,bookish,nerdy parents?

Am I over thinking this whole thing? What if David and I never have children? What if we have children that are uninterested in books? Say, they are more interested in blowing things up and pummeling each other? Will I be okay with that? What if they stop printing books because it isn’t nice to the trees. Or what if Kindle makes books obsolete? What if one us goes blind and David has to read “The Devil Wears Prada” to me or I have to read him the entire Shelby Foote Civil War trilogy? I have trouble pronouncing Appomottax and I’m sure David wouldn’t know a Prada product if it hit him in the head. What if Prada stops making shoes and handbags? The future is just so uncertain.