The library was different from the last time that I saw it. I walked in, books in hand. As soon as the door shut behind me, I was filled with disconcert. I scrunched my face at the smell. It was as if someone was holding a pair of forgotten dirty socks from a gym bag underneath my nose. There were books thrown throughout the library, the paintings were ruined, the wall was cracked, chairs were broken, and other unimaginable things.
I called out, ‘Hello?’ in hopes of finding the librarian. My first instinct was to quickly turn around and run the other way but curiosity got the better of me. This was the most unpragmatic situation I had ever been in and I was definitely going to take advantage of it. First I walked to the librarians’ brown oak desk where I found it completely vacant. When I went to the opposite side of her carrel, I noticed four big scratches placed perfectly side by side in the middle of the table. Something was not right. Fear began to fill my soul.
My breath quickened and I started feeling numb. All of a sudden, an enormous white, bubbly drop fell just in front of w...
in one instant, and then the clouds were below me-a white light that I could
Who can resist a book with a chapter titled, "Labia Lumps, Chunky Discharge, and Other Things They Never Taught Me in Library School"? Released this past summer, Revolting Librarians Redux: Radical Librarians Speak Out takes no prisoners as its contributors ponder everything from the backtracking of '60s values by ALA's baby boomers to librarian imagery in erotica. This edited volume is a sequel to a 1972 self-published book titled Revolting Librarians. The original is worth checking out for its historical value alone. The editors of the 2003 volume, Katia Roberto and Jessamyn West gathered essays from ten of the original writers from the 1972 book for this version and it is interesting to see what thirty years has done to these radical librarians.
Lizzie was observed in the library making noise and asked one of the staff members if they have toys in the library and stated, “I am bored its nothing here to do, but look at books.”
Utilizing effective diction is key as Welty to put together the mosaic of memories that illustrates the intense presence of reading in her life. Her use of diction pulls the reader into the scenes, it makes them real. When she describe the library the wording allows to hear “the steady seething of the electric fan”, the harsh tone of the librarian’s “normal commanding
I had the opportunity to interview Jennifer Ashby. She has been the director of the Asotin County Library since February of 2001. She oversees just about everything that goes on in the library. She is in charge of budgets, facilities, personnel, collections, technology, programs, services, and public relations. She gave me a lot of great information on the history and current events of the library.
heart was beating so fast I thought I would faint at any minute. I saw
On 13rd of October, at 3:57p.m., I found a seat next to the ceiling window on the ground floor in the San Diego Public Library and started my observation. The whole floor is surrounded by the ceiling windows which allow the allow luminance of sunlight to shine deeply into the library. My location was facing both the children’s library and the area which serves a branch of CD and DVDs. On that day, the library was also holding a mini exhibition names as the “Guardian Spirit Sacred Sculpture from the Continent of African”. Even though there are three wooden bookshelfs displayed orderly between my location and the children library, I can still clearly observe my target who is located in the children library.
My brother and I were at the Bronx Public Library with a few of my brother’s friends. The library was located right in the heart of the town, overlooking The Coachman’s Inn, which happened to be my mother’s workplace. The dirty, graffitied, cream bricks of the library gave off a sketchy vibe. The librarians were the meanest people you could meet. They were always yelling at us for making too much noise, even when we weren't making a sound. I was wearing my white polo shirt and my navy blue skirt; my brother wearing his light blue polo shirt and his creme khaki pants.
We all remember these grey gloomy days filled with a feeling of despair that saddens the heart from top to bottom. Even though, there may be joy in one’s heart, the atmosphere turns the soul cold and inert. Autumn is the nest of this particular type of days despite its hidden beauty. The sun seems foreign, and the nights are darker than usual enveloped by a thrill that generates chills to travel through the spine leaving you with a feeling of insecurity. Nevertheless, the thinnest of light will always shine through the deepest darkness; in fact, darkness amplifies the beauty and intensity of a sparkle. There I found myself trapped within the four walls of my house, all alone, surrounded by the viscosity of this type of day. I could hear some horrifying voices going through my mind led by unappealing suicidal thought. Boredom had me encaged, completely at its mercy. I needed to go far away, and escape from this morbid house which was wearing me down to the grave. Hope was purely what I was seeking in the middle of the city. Outside, the air was heavy. No beautifully rounded clouds, nor sunrays where available to be admired through the thick grey coat formed by the mist embedded in the streets. Though, I felt quite relieved to notice that I was not alone to feel that emptiness inside myself as I was trying to engage merchant who shown similar “symptoms” of my condition. The atmosphere definitely had a contagious effect spreading through the hearts of every pedestrian that day. Very quickly, what seemed to be comforting me at first, turned out to be deepening me in solitude. In the city park, walking ahead of me, I saw a little boy who had long hair attached with a black bandana.
Seven thirty in the morning, confused, and gazing at my first experience of college I had no idea what this semester would have in store for me. Within the second story of Vawter Hall about fifty to a hundred students are crowding the hall awaiting the arrival of their professors. I was no different; unlike these other chatty energetic individuals I was alone, and desperate to get this first day over with. At eight o’clock bells chime through the building and the students have now dwindled down to those who I will later come to know as classmates and those few who had overslept on the first day. Eight fifteen, the little crowd starts to stir; the professor has still yet to arrive. Around eight twenty a woman with short cut hair arrives in a hurried manner, clearly upset to have arrived after her students. However, to her surprise, and those of her students, the door was
The library, like many symbols signifies silence, thought and work. You would not walk into a library expecting to be served drinks, and to see people dancing on bookshelves. The library evokes an image of peacefulness, in which people are diligently working; yet a closer examination reveals the not so serene value of a library visit.
A young girl is in the school library. She goes to the library because she feels that the environment there is peaceful and tranquil, perfect for studying. She sits there silently at one of the many tables fully engulfed in the book that she’s reading. Nothing in the room disrupts her. The sound of pages being flipped at the table to her left doesn’t bother her.
My stomach retched, my throat dry, had I got myself into this mess? A distant thud echoed across the cold, hard floor, ricocheting into my ear. Someone was coming.
The echoing didgeridoo invaded the awkward silence, and the chairs scraped the wooden floors, marking the conclusion of the period. I attempted to bolt through the large crowd, squeezing through the narrow doorway of the class. I was shoved into a row of desks, “Step back loser or I will get Bulan to give you another reminder.” I waited, head down, looking at my hideous pale legs, wishing they were dark. When the laughter was fading down the hall, I ...
Just like waking up in the morning and inhaling my first conscious-breath of the day, reading is something essential to me. As I child, I used to dream of having my own and private reading place where I would sit and spend my whole day reading my favorite books without any disturbance. Thanks to my dreams, I now have a wonderful private library in my house. This place is not similar to any other ordinary library but a mini place where you can find a massive number of interesting books of different varieties.