Castles

“Reading is an act of civilization; it’s one of the greatest acts of civilization because it takes the free raw material of the mind and builds castles of possibilities.” — Ben Okri

In an effort to cut waste and abuse in government, our leaders in the administration are withholding funds to the Institute for Library and Museum Services. That’s enough national news to upset, frighten and anger me. I’ve never protested government spending on weapons — disturbing and horrifying news — but I’m protesting those decisions on libraries now. I see the cuts as a plan to limit free thought. Our leaders are strangling our liberty and must be stopped.

This harmful move to cut support to libraries is, I believe, the use of power to control us, and I’m furious. I can’t be proud of my country when our leaders are taking away the opportunity for everyone of all backgrounds and income to read books in an open, free setting. We have a thought police running rampant over our centers of learning, destroying the freedom to think for ourselves, to “build castles of possibilities.”

As lovers of libraries know, what we find in books is answers, perspective, thoughtful insights, stories of human interaction and exciting events. That’s where love is explained, where we hunt for truth, where a faraway place can be understood. The words in books engage us, spark our minds, bring us to insights about the human condition and its mysteries. Without books we are lost.

As you can tell, I can get worked up about reading, especially as an important activity for young people. One of my teenage students asked me, after one of my rants, “Is reading the most important thing?”

“No,” I said. “Love is more important.”

She sat back in her seat, relieved.

I provided daily newspapers for my students to read before classes started in the morning. For some, that was the only reading they did, even if it was just the crime stories. Local gang members were surprised to find their exploits written down in words. I like to think those news reports turned them into readers of books.

Libraries can also be places to rest. Once, when I arrived early at the downtown San Francisco Public Library, I found a crowd there at the door, a group of tired, homeless people waiting to enter a place where they would be safe and warm. I envision them reading too. If that library is denied enough funds to be open early, those people will suffer. Libraries matter.

My mother, an immigrant from Austria, went to work at 18, helping support a large family. She learned typing and shorthand from a book and became a secretary in an office overlooking the Los Angeles Public Library. That library gave her an education, and she became a lifelong reader who taught my sister and me to enjoy books. She told us stories at the dinner table from the books she read. Listening to her stories was like hearing a TV series on Masterpiece Theater. (I’ve no idea what my father must have been thinking as he ate his dinner.)

Here in Prescott I’ve spent a good deal of time in our public library, escaping chores, teaching a class of actors, encouraging memoir writers, even singing in a chorus at the Friday library concerts. While I enjoyed my time, I found myself among all sorts of other kinds of seekers — those interested in neardeath experiences, those who wrote poetry, or studied astronomy, or organized peace events. I even came upon a fellow working two jigsaw puzzles at a wide library table. To think of limiting the library staff or hours is scandalous. The cuts would deprive us of interesting creative opportunities and leave Prescott the poorer for it.

While I think of the library as a magical, beautiful place, like a castle in a story, I do have one uncomfortable memory of my time there. While wandering the stacks one morning, I tripped and fell, breaking several bones. My accident caused a fuss, a flood of EMTs, an ambulance ride, some nasty pain, and it scared my fellow patrons, who were there to find quiet. So I have to add here that even while strolling in a quiet library, disaster can happen and bring us back to an awareness of the fragility of life.

I’m told that President Trump doesn’t read books, and that’s enough for me to fear for the future of America. Without thoughtful, informed leadership by a person conversant with the teachings of history, we don’t have a President who understands his role, the planet, other cultures, or the value of compassion and humility. Leadership requires knowledge, and that knowledge comes from the patient work of scholars and artists whose words are found in books.

Trump’s administration is failing us.