The characters who gather at this small branch, open only 5 hours a day, range from the young school children seeking shelter until someone picks them up to the seniors who mindlessly twiddle their thumbs in the assisted living nearby. Most often it is just one or two who walk directly to the shelf for what they’ve requested ahead of time. Others linger over the newspapers with today’s headlines splashed and smeared from being folded too warm. Others gravitate to the computers where they print and puzzle.
A small location such as this doesn’t feel the dire destruction of the city’s morale as the larger libraries see every day. The guardians of knowledge here revel in the quiet and calm atmosphere their younger selves were promised by the media’s depiction of the institution. Only to quickly see their ideals crushed by overflow from failing social programming and crumbling infrastructure. But here in this small branch off the beaten path, faith is restored by the small community utilizing the pristine shelves of shiny board books for giggling babies. The seniors come from the bridge club next door to peruse the unruffled new releases from their favourite mystery author with the 20th instalment of a detective who never ages.
The largest gathering is at the weekly Lego club, when trucks of tiny plastic bricks are unloaded for the privileged boys and girls to compete for best creation. The air buzzes with childish joy and quickly evaporates at closing time when the doors must close, the lights fade, and the collection sits waiting for another chance to be held.
On a good day, the books are collected to be sent somewhere else where the patrons are desperate and the staff are zombified by incident after incident. INDECENT EXPOSURE. ALCOHOL. VIOLENCE.
The shelters empty to the streets, the streets flood the libraries. The librarians add social work to their list of duties among reading to children and teaching your great aunt how to use a mouse.
With Internet cafes closed and the academic at home with an e-reader, it leaves tables empty for the next in line. A halfway point between tents and high-rise, the library is a merging of the many city streams. Nanny, Neighbour…Righteous know-it-alls may flood the hierarchy, but they can’t sit in line of contact with these library patrons; too loud, too bossy, too ragged, too slow, too…urban. Every so often, they drop in and rush out when confronted by the result of their unsympathetic vote in a recent election.
When greeted by the fresh air and quiet atmosphere, this spot feels like a vacation, a dream, a utopia. Yet, after hours in this place, it grows tired, too slow, and you miss the bustle and the mess from the bigger library with the demanding patrons and loud security alarms from emergency exits used far too liberally. It’s invigorating to participate in the reality of a city so diverse with merging social classes, cultures, ages and interests. The library is a cornucopia for sociological dynamics and community connections. The flutter is a comfort; the zooming is white noise to our ears.
Toronto, Swansea, 2025
