The Misuses of Literacy

A tiny wooden library on a pole has been erected in the front yard of an apartment building near mine. Neighbors are invited to freely exchange books they have finished reading for ones they want to read. It looks much like a fancy bird house but is fitted with shelves for around thirty or forty paperbacks instead of space for seeds and nesting straw. Confused and disappointed pigeons can be seen perching on the roof, and not because those eager, covetous sparrows have already nabbed the new releases. 

But I also rarely discover anything of interest in this so-called library. The inventory is mostly dog-eared science fiction, obsolete computer manuals, bestsellers with mysterious stains and cracked spines, and lots of out-of-date travel guides to Europe and the Caribbean. I once even came across an antediluvian edition of Fodor's Italy with hotel prices listed in Lira. Maybe useful reference material for time travelers but of little practical value to anyone else.

In other words, rather than an altruistic initiative for promoting local literacy, the library is really just a convenient depository for people who would otherwise feel guilty about tossing old books into the garbage. As such, I suppose it does provide a worthwhile service for the community, although the custodian should probably discard that copy of The South Beach Diet that's been available for so long its pages are starting to grow mold. 

This morning, however, I noticed a new sign on the library's facade asking patrons to refrain from leaving "religious books," and remembered seeing an illustrated children's Bible there earlier in the week. No doubt that was the offending article, immediately removed before any impressionable minds could be exposed to its devious message. Ah, the hard-nosed, petulant prejudices of the modern world where multiple copies of Fifty Shades of Grey  can find a home but the "light of the world" must be extinguished.

Comments

[John]

There is a "little library" in the municipal park where I lunch before my more or less weekly helicopter lessons. I try to get the most out of these across-four-counties drives. I eat, then walk to the restroom, on the way pausing to look through the glass. The contents do change a lot. A bare plurality of the books are what may be called teen fiction. Some old National Geographics; some thrillers with some thrill still in them; maybe some Bible stories; certainly nothing looks unloved or badly in need of pensioning-off. Once, I took out a slim textbook on art history, and I read it and learned a lot from it, and returned it the following week. Since then, I haven't seen it. Nor have I seen my own one contribution, which was my deceased aunt's copy of Villette. It had on its cover an old oil painting of a young girl (sorry I didn't retain enough from that textbook to describe this art any better), and I expect some other young girl was enchanted. By the picture, not the prose: I myself found Charlotte Brontë hard sledding. Federal aviation regulations are more fluently composed.

I have in my town seen a few of these little libraries. None has ever displayed anything grumpy or pre-emptively censorial. (Also, none has attracted birds of any sort, which is funny now that I think about it.) One did offer masks as well as books. Maybe sanitizer too, since you had to have touched the knob to open the glass door. That's been the extent of do-gooderism. I find the installations cheerful. But no, I'm not putting one on my front lawn.

[stephenesque]

I live in a large college catchment area, so I suppose I think the standard of free libraries ought to be higher; although it does explain the frequent availability of Molecular Biology textbooks and The Idiot's Guide To Skateboarding.
I don't think I've ever attempted scaling Charlotte Brontë (kudos if you finished), although I did enjoy reading Emily's famous novel when I was in my late teens.