The Library
By Lori R. Storm
2010

When I was growing up, my local library was an oasis from the rest of the world. When I was in elementary school I lived within walking distance of the local library. It was a reasonable walk down a rural road and across the railroad tracks. The library was housed in an ugly cinderblock building painted green, with windows that opened out from the top. I knew it was ancient and broken down, but it was still filled with things I never imagined before.

Since I always went alone, I never worried about hurrying to meet anyone’s schedule (except those posted on the front of the library) and could wander among the stacks at my own pace. I would pull books down from shelves and peer into them just to see what kind of things people would write down. It was among those shelves that I first met L. Frank Baum, who shared all his stories of Oz with me. From there I moved on to Lewis Carroll and then Ray Bradbury. That’s when I found that adult fantasy was within my reach. I read all of Poe and Arthur Conan Doyle. From there I moved on to the world of science fiction, but my love of fantasy began at the small town library.

At home, the oldest books on my bookshelf include three that belonged to my mother: The New Home Book of Best Loved Poems, published in 1946, Enough Rope by Dorothy Parker, 1940 and A Selection of Poems by e.e. cummings, 1963. When I had nothing else to read these books of poetry seemed accessible and inviting. Two of the earliest books I bought for myself that have moved with me through the years are annotated volumes of Sherlock Holmes and Alice in Wonderland.

There is a tactile and emotional response to pulling a book from the shelf and opening it to a favorite passage or just dipping into it randomly. Going into the library, even now, is like entering a comforting world filled with endless possibilities for new experiences. I always feel at home in a library.

Read Lori R. Storm's biography here. Also, read her book review on Art & Fear, here here.

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