Even the Dan Brown novels were gone from the street library.
There had been two – the Da Vinci one, which everyone has read, and Angels & Demons, which no one has – and they had been there for months.
Their arrival had been noted, because the timing was a bit curious. A few weeks earlier, I had chanced upon a lighthearted Twitter conversation that explored the contention that it is possible to gauge the cultural depth of a suburb by the presence or absence of Dan Brown novels in its street library – the latter, some of us decided, being preferable.
It became evident that one of the people in the conversation, a historian, used the same library as me. We established this by exchanging cryptic descriptions of the thing, vague geographic references and confirming the absence of Dan Browns.
Then, a week or so later, The Da Vinci Code turned up, followed soon after by its unloved successor.
I visit the street library at least once a week. One day perhaps I’ll get there to find another person browsing its shelves and we’ll speak – as strangers at street libraries always do – and I’ll discover she’s the historian.
And we’ll greet each other and say wasn’t that a funny thing about the Dan Browns and laugh a little and add something stupid about how we must ensure it never repeats and then walk away and not see each other ever again.
That would be a very street library thing to happen.
*
I don’t know who owns the street library. Possibly the matter is moot. I mean, someone must have put the structure in place. It’s a two-door, four-shelf repurposed kitchen cabinet, painted grey with orange edges and “STREET LIBRARY” stencilled on one side.
It’s not a stretch to imagine it was someone who lives in the converted corner shop, the overhanging roof of which shelters it. Whoever they are, they must be, by definition, nice. Assholes don’t set up street libraries.
Beyond the wood and glass, however, it’s arguable that no one owns it. Or perhaps we all do.
Certainly, it seems to command a degree of respect. Where I live, things gets tagged all the time, stuff gets broken or stolen, things get pissed on.
No one hurts the street library. Indeed, people take the trouble to reorder the shelves, make sure it’s all neat and tidy.
I’m one of those. I do that.
*
I put a lot of books in it, too. I’m certainly not the only one.
I estimate I’ve put about 300 books in it over the past six months.
One day when I walked up to the street library, carrying half a dozen books for it in a green cloth shopping bag, an older woman was looking through the shelves. This can take some time, because there are eight of them and they are often stacked two-deep.
I stood back, but she waved me in and asked me if I liked the crime novels of Dick Francis. She was just returning one, she said. She did so enjoy his work.
Back home, I had more than 20 Dick Francis novels, from my mum, in the shed. I told her I would drop them up to the cabinet the following day. Mid-morning, I said.
I did just that. Two days later, when I popped past again, they were almost all gone. They’ve never come back. I hope the woman took them and I hope they sit proudly in her house and they make her feel happy. They don’t need to come back.
Some books you return; others you keep. I read and returned Al Alvarez’s The Biggest Game in Town and Jean M Auel’s The Clan of the Cave Bear. I kept a John Mortimer Rumpole hardback and – score! – The Australian Women’s Weekly Cookbook from 1970.
*
When the Dan Browns disappeared, it was during the festive season break. The shelves were very sparsely stocked indeed. Even the two large French language academic tomes on (I think) literary criticism had been taken.
Maybe lots of the books had been repurposed as gifts or stashed in bags as holiday reading. I hope so, but the sight of the street library, so poorly nourished, was disturbing.
First thing the next morning I put about 30 books in a shopping bag – some Alexander McCall-Smiths, Nora Roberts and Reginald Hills – and drove over.
In the less-than-a-day that had passed, person or persons unknown had deposited some hardcover books on crafts and cooking, a clothbound coffee table book on spells and witchcraft, some young adult fantasy fiction titles and a three-volume boxed set on household economies for prudent people.
I added my contribution.
I don’t know any of these donors and they don’t know me. But we all know the street library. And that’s a very special thing.
