I don't know if it's bad form to have consecutive blog posts about the same niche subject, but this is a piece I wrote for the Birmingham Libraries Zine that's being put together as part of a wider campaign to stop Birmingham Council shutting all of its public libraries—or remodelling the service to the extent that it becomes worthless. Sadly, they didn't have room for it, but I enjoyed writing it and it conveys my feelings more succinctly than the last piece I wrote on the subject. So, here it is:
One morning a couple of years ago, I fell down an internet rabbit hole that led not to Klaus Schwab but to Sutton Coldfield Library and some photos taken soon after it opened in 1974. One in particular, a view of the adult lending library, grabbed my attention. I saw the row of reading chairs in it and was instantly transported. I’d sat in those very chairs. Not in 1974, I wouldn’t be born for another ten years, but growing up: as a child, going there with my grandparents during the holidays. As a teenager, sneaking in after school. I think they were still there in my early twenties. Seeing that photo, slightly delirious from lack of sleep—my daughter was still a toddler—I experienced that wonderful moment when a long-dormant memory surges back; sight, smell, touch, the whole bundle. I could feel the bobbled fabric of the cushion covers and what it was like to sink right down into them. You don’t forget a shade of orange like that, either. I spent hours in those chairs, either by the tall windows overlooking the bus stops or tucked away down the end of an aisle. I’d browse through books, poems, plays, sheet music, and another victim of so-called progress, CD sleevenotes (the essays in Elvis Costello reissues would make a great book on their own). Often, I could’ve just got them out and read them at home—it was a library, after all—but this was a nice place to be. It should be easy for me to rhapsodise about what libraries, and Sutton Library in particular, mean to me because I loved the place so much growing up. It was my school far more than actual school was. Actual school was for fucking about and having a laugh; the library was where I went to learn (I didn’t articulate it like that at the time; I was a pretentious sod growing up, but not that pretentious). At the time, the children’s, adult, music, video and reference libraries were all separate, spread over two floors, and very well stocked, which meant whole worlds could be explored for free, at your own pace and leisure. Aged 11, I became fascinated by an aisle that contained literally thousands of plays and so was inspired to try writing my own. At 12, I was borrowing Wilfred Owen and Joe Orton (at school we were reading some crap YA novel about a moody teenager). Aged 13, I learned to play the guitar and piano thanks to the chord-book section. Aged 19 (I’d slowed down a bit), I wandered into the local history section and read books that completely changed how I viewed the town I’d grown up in. I owe most of my musical knowledge to the well-stocked CD library, first hearing everything from The Beatles to Big Youth to Debussy to Miles Davis from there (they had a nine-CD Miles Davis & Gil Evans boxset in there that you could borrow. For 55p.) Like I said, it should be easy to rhapsodise, but it’s difficult because libraries have always played such a vital, functional role in my life that it’s like trying to describe what the mugs in my kitchen mean to me. A library is a vessel for the stuff that nourishes, warms, awakens, relaxes. And it’s all for free (apart from the CDs and overdue fines) and for anyone. I didn’t drop all those names in the last paragraph to peacock about how sophisticated I was—I didn’t understand half the stuff I affected to—but to show that those and many other moments of discovery are such a defining part of me, and they were all facilitated by Sutton Library. What teenager would be able to afford any of that stuff new, especially one who spent his paper-round money on fags and cassette singles? I describe myself as a proud product of public libraries and adult education, and the two are inseparable. When, aged 22, I realised that fucking about and having a laugh at actual school had helped me drift into a dead-end, I went to night-school to do my English A-Level. Sutton Library was often where I went to write my weekly essay (they still had those little compartments called “carrels” then, which were great for focusing in) and to do some reading around the books and writers we were studying. I could go to a shelf and pick out an old, expensive book of literary criticism and just start reading it and learning from it. How great is that? I was working in a pub for about a fiver an hour, and I could just walk into a public building, without an appointment, and have access to all that potential. I didn’t have anyone hassling me or tutting that I wasn’t buying anything; I didn’t need a subscription; I was just left alone and trusted (remember trust?) to get on with whatever I’d come for. I do still visit Sutton Library sometimes when I’m over seeing my mom. It’s not what it was—what’s left is now crammed into one space—but it’s still bigger and more comprehensive than most other libraries I’ve used since leaving Sutton. I’m pragmatic enough to know that libraries can’t be like they were in 1974—I recently discovered that, back then, Sutton Library even had an art section; you could borrow a framed painting to hang on your wall for a fortnight!—but I also know that they still have a crucial role to play, especially for the very young (storytimes for pre-school kids and their knackered parents, craft activities and reading challenges during the holidays) and for older folk (large print books, audiobooks, knit-and-natters, local history groups, one remaining natural community hub where you can interact with others without having to pay). Get rid of libraries, or refashion them as bullshit community hubs with a handful of donated Richard Osman novels and a rack of leaflets, and that all goes the way of art libraries and cassette singles. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a sudden urge to search Marketplace for comfy orange chairs.
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