They Believe King's No Bigot, But They Agree He's Finished

Trip Gabriel, "They Believe King's No Bigot, But they Agree He's Finished," New York Times, Jan. 18, 2019, p. A10.

     Opponents of Mr. King, and even some of his supporters, have long been frustrated by the impression he gives to non-Iowans who think his 16 years in office prove that his constituents are racists.
     "I'm embarrassed by him," said Amy Presler, 48, a librarian in Fort Dodge, who grew up on a farm as the youngest of 10 siblings. "I don't want people in the nation and the world to think that Iowans are behind him and support that sort of talk.  We don't."

COMMENT

     Representative Steve King (R-Iowa-4) is in disgrace for making an outrageous statement, "White nationalist, white supremacist, Western civilization-- how did that language become offensive?" 

     There's a photo of Presler in the article.  She looks like, well, a librarian-- hair pulled back in a ponytail or bun (hard to tell), glasses with thick plastic frames and wearing an elaborately lacy cardigan.  There's a shelf of library books behind her which suggests that the reporter went to the library to find her.  The article follows the the standard practice of locating die-hard Trump-supporting conservatives in the kafeeklatsch at a local diner [1].  The library seems like an obvious place to find someone more  open-minded. 

     The article makes a point that Presler is as local as they come.  Though it does not mention her party affiliation, it's hard to miss the association between books and more enlightened politics. Did she become a librarian because of her tolerant attitude?  Or did she learn tolerance through the practice of librarianship? 

[1]Paul Krugman. "The Economy Won't Rescue Trump," New York Times,  Jan. 21, 2019.  "Although there have been approximately 100,000 media profiles of enthusiastic blue-collar Trump supporters in diners, the reality is that Donald Trump is extraordinarily unpopular."

New in Town

Frank McCourt, "New in Town: The Initiation of a Young Irishman," New Yorker,  Dec. 3, 2018, p. 20-24 [reprinted from Feb. 33 & March 1, 1999].

     It's a warm October day and I have nothing else to do but what I'm told and what harm is there in wandering up to Fifth Avenue where the lions are. The librarians are friendly.  Of course I can have a library card, and it's so nice to see young immigrants using the library. I can borrow four books if I like as long as they're back on the due date. I ask if they have a book called "The Lives of the Poets" by Samuel Johnson, and they say, My, my, my, you're reading Johnson.  I want to tell them I've never read Johnson before, but I don't want them to stop admiring me. They tell me feel free to walk around, take a look at the Main Reading Room, on the third floor. They're not a bit like the librarians in Ireland, who stood guard and protected the books against the likes of me.
      The sight of the Main Reading Room, North and South, makes me go weak at the knees. I don't know if it's the two beers I had or the excitement of my second day in New York, but I'm near tears when I look at the miles of shelves and know I'll never be able to read all those books if I live till the end of the century.  There are acres of shiny tables where all sorts of people sit and read as long as they like, seven days a week, and no one bothers them unless they fall asleep and snore. There are sections with English, Irish, American books, literature, history, religion and it makes me shiver to think I can come here anytime I like and read anything as long as I like if I don't snore. 

COMMENT

     To this new immigrant, the freedom of America is represented by a public library where anyone can come in to sit and read as long as they like.  After an Irish bartender chides nineteen-year-old McCourt for drinking instead of educating himself he heads for the New York Public Library to find a copy of Lives of the Poets.  In the baffling big city, the library is the one place where his literary ambitions don't seem laughable.

   
   

End the Innovation Obsession

David Sax, "End the Innovation Obsession," New York Times, December 9, 2018, p.SR9.

     A year ago I stepped into the Samcheog Park Library in Seoul, South Korea and saw the future.  The simple building in a forested park had a nice selection of books, a cafe at its center and a small patio. Classical music played while patrons read, reclining on extra-deep window benches that had cushions and tables that slid over their laps so that they could sip coffee and eat cheesecake while gazing at the leaves changing colors outside.  Seoul is one of the most modern cities in the world a place suffused with the latest inescapable technology.  This library was designed as an antidote to that.
     "What's so innovative about that?" a friend asked who works  for the library here in Toronto asked when I showed her pictures.  Innovation to her meant digital technology from drones and movie-streaming services and 3D printers, which the library was constantly showing off.
     "Why couldn't they both be innovative?" I asked.
     We are told that innovation is the most important force in our economy  the one thing we must get right or be left behind. But that fear of missing our has led us to foolishly embrace the false trappings of innovation over truly innovative ideas that may be simpler and ultimately more effective. This mind-set equates innovation exclusively with invention and implies that if you just buy the new thing, voilà! You have innovated!

 Comment

     This commentary by the Author of The Revenge of Analog: Real Things and Why They Matter (2016) uses libraries as a frame to exemplify the foolishness of mistaking technology for "innovation."  As an academic librarian I have crashed into the brick wall of technology worship again and again.  The librarians who want to purchase some "innovative" technology are lauded as "visionaries" no matter how much money they waste on ineffective techie toys; Any librarian who wants to preserve literacy and contemplative space is labeled old-and-in-the-way no matter how many patrons ask for a quiet place to study.
   
      As the article points out,  the false promise of technology is hardly benign.  Schools have sacrificed art and music and sports programs in order to by computers that turn out to be ineffective for learning and quickly obsolete. Cities that destroyed their human-scaled centers to accommodate parking now have to innovate to get rid of too much traffic.

      In the library stories I have collected,  technology (with the exception of digitized archives) hardly ever figures as "innovative, much less transformational. Rather, libraries are given as an example of the digital divide -- only the poor and underserved need to travel to a library for clunky, outdated tech offered during limited hours.  The stories of transformation tend to center on collections and on the intellectual space of the library faculty -- study space, a place to meet, discovery of a life-changing book, finding hidden treasure in dusty boxes, self-discovery and coming of age through reading.

    Sax defines innovation as "a continuing process of gradual improvement and assessment."  When technology becomes the problem, the true innovation may be what Sax calls "rearward innovation" to  adapt or revive older systems that worked in more social and human-focused ways.  As an example of rearward innovation,  Sax cites the publication of "Penguin Minis," pocket-sized print books that combine convenience and physicality.  This re-designed codex format was launched in the U.S. with a set of John Green books, an author especially popular with "iGen" readers.  That fuddy-duddy librarian from Toronto hasn't yet realized that computer technology is old-hat.  In order to be innovative it has to do something that is useful and beneficial.

Robert Rainwater, 74, New York Public Library Curator

Roberta Smith, "Robert Rainwater, 74, New York Public Library Curator," New York Times, Obituaries, Dec. 6, 2018, p. A29. 

     He went to work at the New York Public Library in 1968 as a technical assistant in the art and architecture division, where his chief responsibility was answering questions from the public, either by telephone or mail.  The print division was next door, and in 1972 Elizabeth E. Roth, its keeper (as curators were then called) and on of the library's great repositories of institutional memory, invited Mr. Rainwater to join her department.  Upon her retirement nine years later, he became the keeper of the division.
     Mr. Rainwater became the librarian of the newly formed Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division in 1985. At the same time, he was named curator of William Augustus Spencer Collection of Illustrated Books, Manuscripts and Fine Bindings. 

COMMENT

     Mr. Rainwater was 25 years old and ABD in art history at New York University when he got the technical assistant job.  This suggests that at some point he had wanted to become a professor of art history.  Instead he got a job at the library and found a librarian mentor.  He ended up getting what sounds like the best art history job ever, curating art, prints and photographs and creating museum-quality displays in one of the best libraries in the world.   

    Back before everything was automated, libraries used to hire zillions of assistants-- pages and shelvers and  people to order books and file catalog cards and check out books and so on.  All of these people got to hang out at the library and interact with librarians and maybe even  consider librarianship as a profession.  Now that there are computers there are a lot fewer assistants.  It seems too bad that with the loss of these jobs to technology, young people are no longer finding their way into librarianship through mentorship.  

     NowI think librarians should try to deliberately re-create opportunities for mentorship to replace these lost library jobs.  Positions for interns and assistants could be designed to help mentor young people into the profession.  This might even be a strategy to help invite more diversity into the library profession. 

     

Illiberal Values

Kirn, Walter. Easy Chair: Illiberal Values. Harper’s vol. 337, no 2019 (Aug. 2018). p5-7.

Paula was our town librarian. She used Ms. in front of her name and held opinions— on Nixon, the Vietnam War, and civil rights— that I’d heard on the news, from protest leaders and such, but hadn’t experienced up close.  Since the library was on the first floor of the town hall, an old wooden building with a bell on top and an air of venerable officialdom, I wondered whether she was endangering herself by sharing her views while on the job. To demonstrate my own courageous spirit and win her respect, I picked out books that struck me as controversial or sophisticated from the adult shelves, then plunked myself down to read them in an armchair that was visible from her desk. Though I was just eleven, I read Slaughterhouse Five and Future Shock this way. Sometimes we ended up talking about the books. Through gentle questioning, she would elicit from me opinions I wouldn’t have dared to share with others, such as my hope that humans would die out as punishment for harming whales and dolphins. [p. 5]

COMMENT: 

     I have a bit of a crush on Paula. She’s what I would like to be as a librarian. I especially love her willingness to discuss books with her callow young admirer.  

     I can remember doing this kind of reading when I was about eleven, but I didn't always rely on the library.  Slaughterhouse Five and Future Shock were on the bookshelves of my parents or my friends’ parents, as were the utterly fascinating Joy of Sex and Our Bodies Our Selves.  I don’t recall ever trying to discuss them with an adult. Even though I had a perfectly good library card, in Jr. High I loved Kurt Vonnegut so much that I spent my own money on paperback copies of his books so I could read and re-read them. I recently re-read Slaughterhouse Five because it was on my daughter’s high school reading list, and was pleased to find that it is still as good as ever. “Listen: Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time.”  It gives you chills, doesn't it?

Drumming at the Edge of Magic

 Mickey Hart, Jay Stevens, & Fredric Lieberman. Drumming at the Edge of Magic: A Journey Into the Spirit of Percussion,  HarperSanFrancisco, 1990.

     For a long time I thought I would walk into a bookstore and come out with a book explaining all of this.  I finally sought guidance from several of my more learned friends who suggested I try a good research library.  Have you ever been to a major research library, like Harvard’s Widener or Berkeley’s Doe? They’re imposing stone structures, every inch of which hammers home the message that this is a very serious building.  The first time I went into the library at Berkeley I felt as if I had entered a strange kind of church that was both very busy and very quiet – a kind of hushed, scurrying place.  Everywhere you looked, serious people were praying over piles of books.

      I couldn’t wait to get my pile.  I felt the same excitement that I remembered feeling when my grandfather took me to see the dinosaurs at the American Museum of Natural History – this was where the answers were kept.

     My guide was a brisk, no-nonsense type with a Ph.D. Astonished that I’d never been inside a big library before, she was enough of a teacher to be moved by my sudden and naïve eagerness for knowledge. Leading me over to a computer terminal, she punched in the topic – percussion—and scrolled quickly through the entries, jotting down numbers.  I was captivated by the process, particularly by the fact that inside this immense medieval stone building pulsed a heart of high technology.  In a minute we were trotting toward the stacks, zipping past aisles, checking numbers as we went.

     We made a right turn down between two of the stacks and halted in front of a squared-off section of maybe two dozen books.  The mother lode? I gazed at the titles.  Blades was there, of course, along with Curt Sachs’s History of Musical Instruments and John Chernoff’s African Rhythm and African Sensibility, but there were also a few volumes I had never seen before.  Eagerly I skimmed some of the tables of contents, my excitement fading as I went—there didn’t seem to be much here.

     Why were so many of the drum books so thin? And why, now that you mention it, were there so few? Why were there shelves full of books about the violin and walls full of books about the piano but only a dozen or so about drums, most of them monographs on obscurities like the gong in fourteenth-century Manchuria or gigantic tomes on narrow subjects like the mbira (the thumb piano in Zaire).

     I wheeled to question my guide, who nervously backed away murmuring something about there always being gaps in the scholarly record; if there weren’t gaps there’d be nothing for aspiring Ph.D.s to do.   [p. 29]

COMMENT

     This is my favorite library research story of all times.

     The drummer for the Grateful Dead walks into a library in Berkeley and... the librarian fails to recognize him. Then she gives him wrong advice.  Only in a moment of zen it turns out to be exactly the right advice.

     As things transpire, if you are Mickey Hart you have connections. Not long after this library incident, Hart's friends invited him to dinner with Joseph Campbell who literally wrote the book on The Power of Myth (1988). After chatting for a while about drums, Campbell (who like the librarian had also never heard of the Grateful Dead band, but knew the folktale)  offered the same advice  the librarian had given. He told Hart to write a book. 

   Micky Hart did what any respectable cult-band percussionist would do and hired a writer to help him write and a music professor to help with library research.  The book they wrote together is a marvel.

    It occurs to me that the reason that Hart failed to find books about shamanic drumming in the first place is because he was looking for indigenous knowledge.  The root problem is, most shamans don't write books.


 

What are we Teaching Boys when we Discourage Them from Reading Books about Girls?

 
Shannon Hale. “What are We Teaching Boys when We Discourage Them from Reading Books about Girls? (Special to the Washington Post), Salt Lake Tribune, Oct. 14, 2018. P. D2. 

A school librarian introduces me before I give an assembly. “Girls, you’re in for a real treat. You will love Shannon Hale’s books. Boys, I expect you to behave anyway.” 

 COMMENT

     The librarian who Hale mentions is one of several anecdotes about teachers, booksellers, parents and other adults who should know better. Hale says that  she has plenty of fans who are boys (No surprise. She's a good writer.), but they’ve  been reading in secret because they feel embarrassed to enjoy “girl” books.  It must be really aggravating for an author to get fan mail from people who have been shamed about liking her books. But as Hale points out, the social effects of gender-stereotyping books are far more harmful than just irritating writers. Boys who are told they can't read about girls are learning that it's shameful to feel empathy for girls. Hale recommends that we can all do better by learning to say that  a book is about girls without saying it’s for girls. 

     Hale mentions that books about boys like Harry Potter are considered gender neutral, though perhaps Harry Potter is not the right example since since the series has exemplary diversity as well as a lot of strong female characters like Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, and Minerva McGonagal Even Harry Potter had its own run in with gender stereotyping. When it first came out the publisher told J.K. Rowling to use initials rather than her actual name because they thought boys wouldn't want to read a book written by a woman. (They also felt it necessary to issue an edition with an “adult” cover for grownups who felt ashamed to be seen reading children’s books).

     The two illustrations of Hale’s book covers that were chosen for the Salt Lake Tribune article are The Princess in Black and the Hungry Bunny Horde and Real Friends.  Both books feature highly feminized cover designs --pastel colors and cute, long-haired  female figures making smiling eye-contact with prospective readers. 

My copy of Princess Academy (top left) that I bought when the book first came out shows a group of women trekking through a rugged mountainous landscape. I was sorry to see that the new cover (top right) has an image that looks a lot like Belle from the Disney version of Beauty and the Beast.  Even I, a dispassionate middle aged librarian, might feel a twinge of embarrassment to be caught reading a book with a fake Disney princess on the cover.

The Portable Veblen

Elizabeth McKenzie, “The Portable Veblen, Penguin Press, 2016.

“Veb, did I ever tell you how I became interested in neurology?”

“Can’t say that you did,” she said stiffly. 

“Kind of painful,” Paul continued. “I was spending all my time in the library to get away from the freaks at home, and the librarian took me under her wing. Mrs. Brown. She was a stern old bag who pitied me, I think. I was all over the place. So one day she handed me the Life picture book called The Mind — up to that point I’d mostly been reading science fiction — but The Mind was even weirder.  I remember seeing this one page, ‘Isolate human.’ A Princeton student in a lightless chamber with no sound, his hands in gloves.  I think the guy went totally crazy after thirty or forty hours. [p.219]

COMMENT

This is an amusing fictional variation on the transformational book narrative, but I’m pretty sure I remember reading this actual book as a child, or at least one very much like it.[1] The joke is, the transformational book is both life-changing and self-delusional. Grownup Paul becomes a mad scientist. 
         Libraries, librarians and books occur frequently in this effervescent novel offering the characters ways to view the world and themselves (some more helpful than others). Mrs. Brown the Librarian turns up in another part of the story when young Paul is setting up a science fair experiment hoping to document the sound of screaming snails. She helps him find reference material in entirely made-up books called Invertebrates Around Us and Gastrapoda Today. When his experimental snails fail to scream young Paul, to his lasting shame, falsifies his data. Veblen, the protagonist, is named after the Norwegian-American philosopher Thorstein Veblen and she frequently channels her namesake. Her kind but self-effacing stepfather Linus, “had been an academic librarian at UC Berkeley, and a rare-book dealer.” He mentors his stepdaughter by offering her carefully selected books. As young Veblen is being sent on court-mandated visits to her insane biological father he supplies her with White Fang, Call of the Wild, and “a few other novels about ill-treated beasts.” 

[1] Wilson, John Rowan, The Mind,  Life Science Library, 1965.   https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1135687.The_Mind

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

J.K. Rawlings. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. Bloomsbury, 1997.

They had indeed been searching books for Flamel’s name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape was trying to steal?  The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book.  He wasn’t in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our Time; he was missing, too, from Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. And then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows.

Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off at random. Harry wandered over to the Restricted Section.  He had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn’t somewhere in there.  Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books and he knew he’d never get one.  These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts and only read by older students studying advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

‘What are you looking for, boy?’

‘Nothing,’ said Harry.

Madam Pince, the librarian brandished a feather duster at him.

‘You’d better get out, then.  Go on— out!’

Harry left the library.  He, Ron and Hermione had already agreed they’d better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel. They were sure she’d be able to tell them, but they couldn’t risk Snape hearing what they were up to.  [p 145-146]

COMMENT 

     Madam Pince, the librarian, is neither friendly nor helpful.  She is the kind of librarian who is protective of books.  Her possessiveness reminds me a bit of an archivist I once encountered who kept his arms literally wrapped around a box of documents I wanted to use while lecturing me on how to treat the contents with respect. Despite her scariness (she is a "thin, irritable woman who looks like an underfed vulture,"), Madam Pince is a good librarian, though. She has assembled a truly excellent collection of magical information, a comprehensive treasure-trove that always seem to have whatever obscure information Harry and his friends need to find.

     As far as I recall, Madam Pince never teaches any kind of magical information literacy session. Hogwarts students are more or less on their own, though one in a while a professor allows them to look into the Restricted Section. The research styles of the three students  \match their characters.  Hermione is methodical with confidence in the cataloging system; Ron is haphazard; Harry is sure that the information has been hidden on purpose. The three fictional students are doing something that is often turns up in non-fiction narratives. They are seeking knowledge that they believe adults around them would not approve. It's a classic transition out of the children's section into the adult stacks.
     

Autobiography of Red

“XXIV. Freedom,” in Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red: A Novel in Verse, Vintage Books, 1998.

Geryon’s life entered a numb time, caught between the tongue and the taste.

 ——-

He got a job in the local library shelving government documents. It was agreeable to work in a basement
humming with fluorescent lights and cold as a sea of stone.  The documents had a forlorn austerity,
tall and hushed in their ranges as veterans of a forgotten war. Whenever a librarian came clumping down the metal stairs with a pink slip for one of the documents, Geryon would vanish into the stacks. A little button at the end of each range activated the fluorescent track above it.
A yellowing 5x7 index cardScotch-taped below each button said EXTINGUISH LIGHT WHEN NOT IN USE.Geryon went flickering though the ranges like a bit of mercury flipping the switches on and off.The librarians thought hima talented boy with a shadow side. One evening at supper when his mother asked himwhat they were like, Geryon could not remember if the librarians were men or women. 

COMMENT

     The words of the old spiritual say, "this little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine." It's a reference to Matthew (5:15), Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house."

     The dreary government documents stacks are a dark night of the soul for our hero Geryon who has been dumped by his lover and is now obeying instructions to "extinguish light when not in use."
I find the metaphor particularly amusing since I am a documents librarian. And yes, we documents librarians are a lot like the ones in the poem —  heavy-footed, gender ambiguous trolls lurking in the basement with flickering lights, pink slips, and forlorn, joy-killing, unreadable books. But note also  the librarians' radical inclusion. Geryon is literally a monster, red with wings (incidentally also a queer, tortured artist) but to the librarians, he is a talented boy. In an depository, grand dramas of sex and passion are quite simply irrelevant.  If Geryon wanted to, he could become one of them.

     It seems probable from the nuanced description that Anne Carson experienced this particular documents library as an actual place. These days most government documents are online. One day the FDLP depository in the poem may seem like pure imagination, the fanciful invention of an impossibly drab, soul-sucking job.

Moby Dick

Herman Melville, Moby Dick or The Whale  1851.

EXTRACTS. (Supplied by a Sub-Sub-Librarian).

      It will be seen that this mere painstaking burrower and grub-worm of a poor devil of a Sub-Sub appears to have gone through the long Vaticans and street-stalls of the earth, picking up whatever random allusions to whales he could anyways find in any book whatsoever, sacred or profane. Therefore you must not, in every case at least, take the higgledy-piggledy whale statements, however authentic, in these extracts, for veritable gospel cetology. Far from it. As touching the ancient authors generally, as well as the poets here appearing, these extracts are solely valuable or entertaining, as affording a glancing bird’s eye view of what has been promiscuously said, thought, fancied, and sung of Leviathan, by many nations and generations, including our own.
      So fare thee well, poor devil of a Sub-Sub, whose commentator I am. Thou belongest to that hopeless, sallow tribe which no wine of this world will ever warm; and for whom even Pale Sherry would be too rosy-strong; but with whom one sometimes loves to sit, and feel poor-devilish, too; and grow convivial upon tears; and say to them bluntly, with full eyes and empty glasses, and in not altogether unpleasant sadness—Give it up, Sub-Subs! For by how much the more pains ye take to please the world, by so much the more shall ye for ever go thankless! Would that I could clear out Hampton Court and the Tuileries for ye! But gulp down your tears and hie aloft to the royal-mast with your hearts; for your friends who have gone before are clearing out the seven-storied heavens, and making refugees of long-pampered Gabriel, Michael, and Raphael, against your coming. Here ye strike but splintered hearts together—there, ye shall strike unsplinterable glasses! 

COMMENT

Melville seems to be making fun of his own book by starting out with a librarian, a sad, unadventurous person who "belongest to that hopeless, sallow tribe which no wine of this world will ever warm."  Yet the librarian is acknowledged to be good company and has helpfully compiled a bibliography of whales. He will reappear in the narrative (Chapter 32: Cetology) speaking in the first person in order to catalog actual whales.  Personally, I was so pleased by the presence of the librarian in Moby Dick, that I wrote a poem about him. [1]

Cetology 

Sometimes on days when work is slow
I take my lunchbox and I go
Down by the People’s Freeway
To the Garden of Modest Bureaucrats

Where I breathe the intoxicating patchouli
Narcissus scent of paperwhites
Planted in the Grove of Inferiority
Complex with Attitude near the statue

Inscribed, “To that sallow Sub Sub Librarian
Whom Melville mentioned in his book
Which is mostly about people chasing whales”
The Librarian, too, was hunting Leviathan

And met with notable success
Finding him swimming though Genesis, Psalms,
Job, Milton, Shakespeare’s plays;
The Marine Mammal Protection Act

Had not yet been written; Whales were prey
To Quakers and cannibals, but soon the bureaucrats
Would arrive armed with regulations; the whales
Would be saved from pagan harpooneers;

Melville, or at least his doppelganger Ishmael,
Was misguided when he wrote that chapter
Overstating the eternal, unbreachable
Future of those immensely vulnerable creatures,

Now even the oceans have become too small
To absorb the wrath of those damned whalers
Who must forever blame something
For whatever limb it was they lost at sea

While the Librarian sat calmly compiling
Folio, octavo, duodecimo, of cetology
Steadfastly refusing to be drowned
When all hands on the ship went down.


[1] Amy Brunvand,  Pink Birds and Beasts of Land and Sea, Journal of Wild Culture, 7/15/2016.

Transported

Ruth Franklin. Transported: How should children’s books deal with the Holocaust? New Yorker, July 23, 2018, 64-69. 

I was fourteen when “the Devil’s Arithmetic” was published. Although it won numerous awards, no teacher or librarian ever gave it to me.  I wish someone had, because the book speaks in a profound way to the painful paradox I felt then and still feel now: how to be an adequate witness to something I haven’t myself experienced.[p. 66]

COMMENT

In this anecdote the librarian has failed, probably without ever knowing that this student needed to learn about the Holocaust.

Franklin writes that as a child  she had relatives with tattoos on their arms who had survived the Holocaust, but she had little information to understand exactly what it was they had survived. She was given “The Diary of Anne Frank," an excellent book, but one that stops at a confusing place. An adult would know the implication of the Frank family being sent off to Nazi death camps. To a child the ending conceals the true atrocity.

Children are often aware of horrifying world events, but lack vocabulary or background knowledge to really understand the truth of what happened. Adults want to protect not only kids but also themselves from facing the full horror. They end up either refusing to talk about it or offering information so thoroughly sanitized that it doesn't really make sense. 

 “The Devil’s Arithmetic” uses fantasy as a frame to help children cope with emotionally difficult information. Some adults didn't like the use of fantasy for such a serious subject, but Franklin thinks it would have worked well for her 14-year-old self.  In the documentary “Won’t You Be My Neighbor” Fred Rogers uses hand puppets to address children’s fears after the assassination of President Kennedy. Through the voice of Daniel Striped Tiger, Rogers timidly asks Lady Aberlin, “What does “assassination” mean?”

Probably Franklin never asked for book suggestions. If so, what could a librarian have done? It might have been hard to guess at this particular information need. An astute librarian who knew that there were Jewish families in the community might have made a selected list of Holocaust books for kids-- something that a kid could pick up without having to ask a scary adult. [1]  But often, kids find the kind of books that adults don't quite like through word of mouth. 

[1] A letter to the editor in the August 6 & 13  issue of the New Yorker says that quite a lot of Children's literature about the Holocaust was written in Yiddish but for the most part it was never translated.

Guidelines for the Treatment of Sacred Objects

"Guidelines for the Treatment of Sacred Objects," [poem] in Heid E. Erdrich. National Monuments. Michigan State University Press, 2008.

Guidelines for the treatment of sacred objects
That appear or disappear at will
Or that appear larger in rearview mirrors,
Include calling in spiritual leaders such as librarians,
Wellness-circuit speakers and financial aide officers.

COMMENT

Erdrich's poem refers to the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (1990). It's not only delightful to see a poetic interpretation of a government publication, I also appreciate the tongue-in-cheek appearance of librarians in the role of spiritual leaders.  Libraries, wellness and financial aid are indeed useful support services, though let's be honest, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

Much of Erdrich's poetic work references the role of cultural heritage organizations -- libraries, archives and museums-- and their treatment of Indigenous knowledge and artifacts. In National Monuments the theme is human remains presented as spectacle, as if there were no longer any living relatives of those mummies and bones, as if certain kinds of dead people weren't really people at all. 

I also recommend Erdrich's latest book of poems* for librarians who would like a poetic introduction to issues surrounding the collection of Indigenous knowledge. There are a lot of good scholarly articles, too, but they won't have the same emotional punch to the gut.

*Erdrich, Heid E. Curator of Ephemera at the New Museum for Archaic Media. MSU Press, 2017.