Here’s a scene: I’m at a library on the outskirts of Melbourne. I’m “in conversation” with a librarian. It’s not possible to keep those words out of scare quotes, not if you’re aware of the small and faulty machine that keeps Australian book publicity moving. What I am doing is being asked generous, kind, eminently answerable questions about my new book so that I can move a few units. It’s a “conversation” I’m grateful for because I like moving units and I like talking to librarians and, let’s be real, I also like talking about myself. The crowd, including several Melbourne friends, is attentive and also kind and generous. What could go wrong?
Libraries are safe spaces, temporary haven for kids and their parents, rough sleepers and the lonely, and people who a millennial friend describes as neurospicy. I love libraries. They’re full of readers and I love them too.
